A Dose of Reality
by athena-arena
Summary: Harry gets a touch of the Flu which turns into something far more sinister... it's a parallel universe drama as Harry winds up in his own defined hell with a familiar face or two to help him find his way home. But is it ever that simple? Hmm... r/r please


A/N: Ta for all those luverly people who have reviewed my feeble attempts at fiction

A/N: OK, I'm just reposting this in chapterised form, so I'm sorry if you've already read it. It's always worth another read thought! The original concept was slightly borrowed from a British sci-fi comedy series, called Red Dwarf, the episode in question being Back to Reality, so putting an interesting twist on the usual illness saga. Credit due. Gets a little fluffy in places but please bear with it… the end is pretty cool!

Dis: The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and I acknowledge that I have no rights to any cannon characters, settings or events mentioned. I have no intention and no desire to make profit from this piece, as the credit deserves to go to JK Rowling as she invented them and thus owns all rights to them. The premise of an alternate reality based on your utmost fears in order to drive you to suicide belongs to Rob Grant and Doug Naylor, as skilfully executed in their television series 'Red Dwarf', the episode in series five 'Back to Reality.' I do not own these things. I have occasionally quoted lines from this episode, and so no copyright infringement was intended. 

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A Dose of Reality

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Part One: The Nightmare

Harry was looking over at the Slytherin table as he broke the bread roll to share with Ron. Malfoy was there, his cronies Crabbe and Goyle sitting either side of him like menacing bodyguards; Their robes specially made to incorporate their large frames, yet still stretching the fabric across their broad shoulder blades. The straggly figure of Malfoy glanced around the room, and for a second, just a second, his eyes met with Harry's and they widened with a mysterious glee. Harry could have sworn he saw something flash across them, a knowledgeable, mischievous look that he only wore when he had something up his sleeve. Harry, however, took little notice. He didn't have to these days. The days where he and Ron would have to check over their shoulders in case Malfoy's evil sneering face was about to foil another of their hair raising plans to save humanity, or simply their made-up divination homework, had passed. The events of the past years had reduced Draco to just remaining at his table as he was now, protected by his fellow Slytherins who were far more understanding of a son of a death eater than most within Hogwarts. It could certainly be said that Draco Malfoy could do nothing within the castle walls without Dumbledore putting a stop to it. He was on a very short leash. 

The bread lay untouched on the side plates. Tonight's dinner was a true winter warmer: A thick lamb stew stuffed with pearl barley and topped with rich stodgy dumplings that soaked up the gravy like a dream. However popular the dumplings were and the vast amounts that continued to appear on the tables, Harry still felt the need to wipe his plate clean.

'I really needed that one,' said Ron as he dabbed up his gravy with his half of the loaf, 'Herbology this afternoon was a killer! I've only just got the feeling back in my fingers!'

Ron was speaking an ounce of truth. Their progression into greenhouse five for the beginning of their fifth year didn't include the joys of central heating, so Ron, Harry and Hermione were reduced to shivering wrecks every Wednesday afternoon in the pursuit of their OWLs. 

'I thought it was quite interesting…' muttered Hermione, who would walk halfway up Everest to simply up herself a grade. No one took much notice, except for Ron.

'Well, In that case you can do my homework for me.'

He had to dodge the carrot that Hermione promptly threw at him. He simply grinned.

'Come on Hermione, you know I'm only joking.'

Hermione's ice like expression, as always, faded at such a comment and the conversation continued to delve into the daunting tasks that lay in the week ahead, a gruesome double potions lesson in particular. Snape always favoured his own house, the Slytherins, during their weekly torture, and took the greatest delight in showing Harry up in front of Malfoy. It made Harry's skin crawl. 

Anyway, the night was still young. After the meal Harry, Ron and Hermione ascended the stairs to the Gryffindor tower to spend a relaxing evening by the roaring fire. They might have even indulged in a game of exploding snap (still an old favourite) while refusing to eat any food that Fred and George offered them in case it had a rather hideous side-effect. They still hadn't forgotten the Canary creams. 

In fact, Harry decided to call it a night quite early on. Ron was already in bed: He'd complained of a screaming headache after the rare occasion of Hermione beating him at wizard chess. His brothers weren't going to forget that in a hurry. They were still chuckling about it to Lee Jordan as Harry sneaked out of the common room, leaving Hermione asleep by the fire, her bedtime reading laying forgotten on the floor. Evenings often ended like this in their fifth year at Hogwarts. They had taken the 'No news is good news' approach regarding the return of Voldemort, but Harry was still finding his slumbers disturbed by the occasional throbbing scar. When in doubt, he always remembered what Hagrid had said in a moment of wisdom, the words so reassuring to Harry: 'We'll fight.' So simple, but coming from one of the people Harry loved most in the world, it was as worthy as pure gold. One thing Harry didn't lack was faith.

But by now, Harry wasn't feeling particularly wonderful himself. His head hurt a little, nothing unusual, but he was a little giddy with it. It was true that the common room was stuffy. It may have been December and the snow outside the castle showed no sign of budging, but with all the Gryffindors crammed into the circular room, the heat had obviously got to him. He eventually climbed into his bed, cursed the house-elves for their thoughtful gesture of warming up the sheets and lay there, sweating. He tried to doze. But it was a fruitless exercise. By now he could have sworn he'd broken into some sort of fever. One moment shivering, another unable to cope with the thick duvet. How long he lay awake he couldn't say. 

'Ron?' he muttered weakly. He could have done with a glass of water, but felt too weak to get it himself. However he spoke out in vain. He got no reply apart from Neville's usual snores; Ron was able to sleep through a hurricane.

When he eventually drifted off, he promised himself to visit Madam Pomfrey in the haze of unusual colours that blinded his vision as the fever hit new heights….

*

He woke with a start. The room was unusually chilly compared to the night before. He felt his thin sheets, expecting them to be drenched with sweat but found them dry. He frowned. He pulled back his drapes that surrounded his four poster bed and stepped out to get that much-needed glass of water. Yet the sight that greeted him seemed slightly odd. He just couldn't put his finger on it. Harry simply put it down to a bad night's sleep, washed and got dressed into his robes of Hogwarts black. Even when he came back from the showers, a little annoyed at the lack of hot water, Ron had not stirred. Harry wandered over to his friend's bed, a little disgruntled.

'Get up you lazy oaf!' he yelled joyfully as he pulled back the drapes. 'You're going to miss…'

'What are you on about, Potter?' said Ron, rising from his slumber. Except it didn't look like Ron. The boy had the same bright red flaming hair and a face of a thousand freckles, undoubtedly a Weasley, but his eyes seemed paler somehow, not twinkling with sarcasm behind his little outburst but sunken in deep, dark rings. They were almost fearful.

'Rough night?' asked Harry, concerned. Ron took little notice.

'What are you doing anyway?' he said, his voice bitter but still a little shaky, uncertain. 'Do you have a death wish or something?'

'Ron, what are you on about? I…'

'Look, don't be so obvious about it. You're supposed to blend in, remember? If you start leaping about like that you'll be toast. And don't talk to me, all right?'

Harry was beyond questioning, as was his bafflement. Ron glanced at him, just for a moment, before slipping on his robe and leaving the room. As if he was begging him to understand. As if he would do anything to change the situation. Something wasn't right.

Nevertheless, Harry went down to breakfast after spending 15 minutes flattening his untidy black hair in vain, a regular exercise no matter how fruitless. There was a definite chill in the air as he entered the great hall and walked over to the Gryffindor table, Ron looking as freaked out as before while his brothers tried to comfort him.

'Calm down, Ron!' Harry could here George saying in a hoarse whisper, 'It's not a big deal…'

'It IS a big deal!' Ron almost screeched. Fred looked a little unnerved. 

'So what if the Potter boy spoke to you? You're not going to be dragged in just for that?'

'Wanna bet?'

Harry was completely dumbstruck. He didn't know what to make of any of this. He chose not to worsen the situation and was pretty relieved when he saw Neville and Hermione at the other end of the table. Neville was deeply entranced by some ancient text while Hermione was wearing a puzzled look, frowning at her wand and waving it to no avail. He began to wander over as the Weasleys continued their conversation.

'Think of it like this. We're only here for a few more weeks. It'll be Christmas soon. Mum and Dad may have found a way to…'

'Yeah, really likely. The day I get out of here alive the Cornish pixies will have taken over.'

'Keep the faith. It's all we got. Keep your head down and out of trouble. It's all we can do.'

Harry sat down next to Hermione, who almost leapt a foot in the air when she heard Harry spoke.

'Something up?'

She frowned at him, a little surprised by his fake chirpiness at that time of the morning. 

'Nothing. Just the usual…' muttered Neville from behind his book.

Hermione suddenly threw down her wand in defeat after failing in whatever she was trying to do, and wailed out defiantly 'It's no use! I don't even know why I'm here! It's probably an obscure form of torture to put me through this!'

Neville looked at the pair of them over the top of his book. 'Honestly Hermione, it's very simple charm. You're just pronouncing it wrong. It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-o-sa. It's perfectly straightforward. You should have mastered it in the first year.' Neville tutted disapprovingly and turned back to his book.

Now Harry was just as freaked out as Ron. It was at this point his eyes darted around the room and observed in horror the subtle changes that seemed to have occurred overnight. Despite the blazing winter sunshine that was streaking through the windows, the enchanted ceiling remained as dark and grey as the night before. None of the usual laughter could be heard wafting across the room with the aromas of the bacon, a delightful sound that Harry had got so used to, it's absence left him feeling cold. He then glanced up to the top table, hoping to see a friendly face or two that would calm his nerves, reassure him a little. But it was an even stranger sight. Professor McGonagall seemed to be on auto pilot, the twinkle in her eye absent as she mechanically ate her toast, now cold and burnt, and tasting like cardboard, Harry noticed as he spat out his mouthful onto a dirty looking napkin. The other teachers seemed in the same state of mind, tired, drained even with the effort of existing, Hagrid looking as downtrodden as if Buckbeak had been sentenced to multiple amputation. Nothing made any sense. Ron scared to even speak to him? Hermione losing her touch? Neville reading over breakfast? He needed answers. He couldn't go off to Defence against the Dark Arts without some form of explanation. Had everybody had a personality transplant overnight? By this stage, Hermione was looking at him in an uncertain, apprehensive way, trying to shift away down the bench as if not to be seen with him. As if he was dangerous. For an instant she looked at him desperately, pleading for understanding as she turned back to her soggy cereal, almost knocking over her glass of milk in the process. That was the final straw. Harry grabbed Hermione by the wrist, ignoring her protests, and dragged her out of the hall and into an unused classroom.

'What are you doing?' she bellowed when he shut the door, checking for teachers or a mischievous Peeves. 'I am so going to get in trouble for this! It's bad enough that Snape hates my guts, but jeez! This'll be like the time I covered the class in shrinking potion…'

'Hermione, shut up and listen. What's going on?'

She looked as confused as Ron normally did. 'With what?'

'With everything!' Harry cried, looking back out of the door at a passing group of merry Slytherins. 'Why isn't Ron talking to me? Was it because of that chess thing last night?'

'I don't know what you're talking about!' said Hermione, baffled as ever.

'You do know! You were there! You beat him, for pity's sake!'

'Harry, I'd lose a game of chess to a stuffed iguana.'

'But what about this morning with Neville? What was that about?'

'Come on Harry, you're really scaring me.' She looked it too. 'I know I've done this before, but if I'm caught talking to you…'

'WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON???!!!??'

Hermione suddenly fell silent. They both stood there for a moment, a little stunned by what had passed between them. Hermione was in deep thought.

'Harry…' she began softy as he turned to look out the window. 'I know it's hard for you. It's hard for all of us. We've just got to survive this year and hope that Dumbledore bloke will come up with the goods. I think he did it once before you know.'

'What?' 

Harry had given up yelling. Nothing was making any sense. He didn't expect it to.

'You know, the plan?'

'What plan?'

'Have you been asleep for the past five years or something? Or did a death eater sneak in last night and wipe your memory? You're as bad as me sometimes…'

Harry paused. Then it dawned on him, his eyes grew wider and he felt the colour drain from his face. 

'This is a very, very bad dream, right?'

Hermione frowned as Harry let the realisation sweep over him. He needed answers.

'Hermione, what did we have for dinner last night?'

'The usual. What we have everyday. God, they really got to you didn't they?'

'What did we have for dinner?'

'Harry…'

'What did we have for dinner?'

'Bread and soup.'

Bread and soup, bread and soup…the words echoed round the room as Hermione snapped, her confused tone bouncing off the stone walls. Harry almost cried out.

'Don't you understand?'

'What? You're not making any sense. Maybe you should go to the hospital wing and get Madam Pomfrey to check you over. If we can coax her out of the cupboard….'

'EXACTLY!' Harry yelled, looking desperately at Hermione for her to understand. 'This has got to be some weird, alternate universe! It's the only explanation!' he scolded himself quietly. 'I don't know why I didn't pick it up sooner!'

'Harry, I think if we'd jumped dimensions I would have noticed. I'm a light sleeper.'

'No, no… not you. Just me. It must have been the fever. It was roaring when I went to bed last night, and I must have passed out. These magical illnesses are really something, aren't they?' Harry shook his head. 'I thought the flu was bad enough. I'm from a universe where we had lamb stew for dinner last night, Ron's my best friend, Neville's a klutz and you're the brains of Britain!'

'I wish…'

'No, it's true! It's all true!'

Hermione thought for a moment.

'If what you're saying isn't the mad ramblings of a mentally deranged person, then…

'…I'll be able to tell you the complete opposite of what you already know.'

Harry sighed with the effort of it all. However, Hermione remained eager.

'Example?'

'The Yule ball. Last year. You went with Victor Krum, the Bulgarian Quidditch seeker and wore periwinkle blue robes. And your hair in some twisty thing.'

'The Yule ball, last year, I was so lame I ended up going with a weedy third year who wouldn't know what a bludger was if it hit him on the nose. I also wore blood red robes and my hair down.'

'Maybe that's not such a good example.' Said Harry. Clothes didn't exactly prove his theory.

'OK, try this one. Next lesson, I have Defence against the Dark Arts with Professor Lupin. He taught us in the third year and now he's back for our fifth.'

There was a pause. A deathly pause.

'We have Tuition in Dark Arts.' Stuttered Hermione. 'With Snape. Why would we have defence lessons? This is a school for the dark arts. We're made to come here. Only the Slytherins like it and let's face it, they're all death eaters in the making. The rest of us are here against our will, or until Dumbledore finds the means to come back and overthrow You-Know-Who…'

'What?' Harry whispered hoarsely. 'Voldemort?'

'Oh, so you DO remember something?' said Hermione, one eyebrow raised. 'Yeah. Grand old Dumbledore is supposed to be trying to save the day. Haven't heard a peep out of him yet.'

'And everyone hates me because?…'

The killer question.

'We're made to.' She replied, shortly. 'Your family refused to go over to the dark side. I've heard - and I'm sorry about this but with no-one allowed to speak to you, the reality is a little scarce - they went into hiding but dragged you out just as you turned eleven. That is why you don't go home for the holidays, isn't it?…'

She paused and glanced over at Harry as he turned a deathly shade of pale. He was muttering to himself. Milling ideas and possibilities around in his head. He reached up to his forehead to trace his fingertips across his scar. But they met nothing but untainted flesh. He stared at Hermione, wide eyed and shocked.

'You mean…' Harry stuttered, trembling, 'my parents are alive?'

'Better believe it.' She muttered. 'You really got out of bed on the wrong side this morning, didn't ya? Now if you don't mind, I need to get to class. Can you wait five minutes before you follow me? I don't want to spend next Friday night cleaning up moaning Myrtle's bathroom. I spend enough time in detention as it is.'

Harry watched her stride across the classroom and reach for the door handle. Then she turned and glanced back at him with saddened eyes, sitting on a desk with his head in his hands.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

*

'Harry, Harry! Wake up!'

Ron was leaning over his friend, shaking him by the shoulders to induce him out of his far from peaceful slumber. Ron had heard mumbling throughout the night, and simply put it down to Harry's overactive scar tissue. The nightmares had got worse in recent weeks. But now he was worried. Harry felt cold to the touch, yet beads of sweat were now beginning to appear on his forehead and trace along the vivid red lightning bolt that told so much about his companion's tragic past. Ron often wondered how it would have turned out for that lack of marking. 

'For god's sake, Harry, wake up! Quidditch Practice!'

No reaction. Harry continued to shake. The forced smile that had etched itself on Ron's face began to fade rapidly.

'Harry…'

'What are you yelling out?' said Hermione, appearing at the door of the boy's dormitory in her Dressing gown. 'You're going to wake up the whole tower in the minute…' she drifted off as she saw Harry, tangled up in his bed sheets, the colour of a ghost. Ron looked up at her expectantly.

'Go and get someone. Madam Pomfrey, McGonagall, anyone. Now!'

Ron disappeared as Hermione approached the bed. She sank to her knees.

'Oh Harry, she whispered, 'What's happening to you?'

________________

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Part Two: The Reality

Harry guessed, quite rightly, that the dark arts lessons were along what he knew as the defence corridor. He was apprehensive about approaching the lesson as his brain bulged with all the new information he'd received. This whole thing felt so real, so vivid, that the possibility of it being a dream seemed less likely. For one fact, his scar was gone. His parents were alive. That was as far-fetched as it could possibly be, If this was a dream, then surely only good would have come out of their survival. He would have been happy. How could a little thing like a fever turn his strongest desire into his worst nightmare? They'd studied magical illnesses earlier in the year, and there had been nothing about vision inducing fevers. Something else figured in this particular equation. And there was nothing he could do about it. 

'You're late, Potter.'

At least Snape hadn't changed: In fact, his evil glare was even more icy as Harry mumbled his apologies and sat at a desk, near Hermione and Ron, although not next to them. She met his eyes and looked at him, pleading for understanding. She broke away as soon as Snape gained the classes attention.

'Right you lot. Today's lesson will involve only your wands and the spiders I issued last week. I do hope you've kept them in good condition, Weasley.' he turned around and stared at Ron, who reached into his bag to put his jar upon the desktop, his face screwed up in terror at the hairy thing encased in the glass. He shuddered.

'Once we have finished being distracted by Weasley's feebleness,' Snape continued with his own brand of vindictiveness 'we are going to test out your torture charms. You should all be aware that the cruciatus curse is not the only option…'

Snape ignored the fact that Neville was trembling as he began to issue more instructions. Harry shrank back in his seat while the Slytherins were absolutely lapping it up. He didn't want to do this. Yeah, sure at times it was tempting to do an unforgivable on Dudley after a particularly bad pummelling, but actually committing a crime that could get you locked up in Azkaban for a long, long time was a different matter. But here they were talking about it as casually as what they'd had for breakfast! The thought of that chilled Harry to the bone. Obviously the other Gryffindors felt the same: He looked over at Ron as he wearily got out his wand to cast a spell, something that obviously pained him despite his undoubting hate for spiders. Hermione wasn't even bothering, just twirling her wand aimlessly in her hands, examining the artwork of Ollivander with the same intensity that Harry normally saw her put into her schoolwork. Not this kind of schoolwork, however. Unfortunately Snape noticed.

'Miss Granger, I know whenever you come in contact with a wand someone ends up in the hospital wings with vegetables sprouting out of their ears,' he spat bitterly 'But put a bit of effort into it? Useless good-for-nothing mudblood.'

He didn't bother to mutter. Harry felt the blood boil in his veins. He gripped his wand tightly.

'I'm sorry sir.' She said quietly. She got out her wand and proceeded in ripping the spider's legs off.

*

Hermione was still on her knees when Ron returned with Madam Pomfrey, the worry etched into both their faces like carvings on a tombstone, deathly cold and tinged with green in reaction to the early hours of the day. The sun was just creeping over the horizon behind the mountains that loomed over the school, normally so secure in their presence at a time of crisis. There was, however, little those ancient walls of stone could do in times like these.

'Miss Granger, please stand aside now…'

But Hermione didn't move. She felt paralysed, her knees now numb for kneeling too long, her hand firmly locked around Harry's frail finger while he continued to thrash and moan with the mutterings of his fever. Hermione was as pale as her friend, her eyes wide and lifeless with worry as Madam Pomfrey's request fell on apparently deaf ears.

'Hermione…' Ron said softly, taking Hermione by the shoulders, 'come on now, let Pomfrey take a look at him…'

She immediately relented to his plea, shifting back a little to allow for proper examination while allowing her head to hang in some sort of premature grief. Ron was baffled.

'What is it?' he whispered, as if a louder declaration may wake Harry's sleeping form. 

'He's really ill, Ron. I've never seen anything like this, I mean I've read about it and all…'

'Hey, it's probably just a bad case of the Flu. After all, the greenhouses were freezing. I'm surprised we haven't had a frostbite outbreak.'

Hermione glared at him, silencing Ron with some sharp look that told him the situation was more serious than his jokey nature could accept. Ron looked on, helpless.

'We can't move him.' said Madam Pomfrey, suddenly standing up, 'Not until we know what it is. And we'll have to put a quarantine charm on this dormitory. Sorry but you two are stuck. Your roommates, Ron, will be shifted temporally. You and Hermione will have to remain.'

'Wouldn't have it any other way.' Muttered Hermione. Ron didn't hear her. He was as white as Harry.

'You mean, it's really serious? Could he…' Ron didn't wasn't to say the inevitable. Hermione closed her eyes. 'Could he die?'

Madam Pomfrey didn't reply. She looked as stone-faced as when she entered, no sign of tension emerging on the normally caring face.

'I need to get Dumbledore. Here…' she quickly conjured up a bowl of water and a cloth, 'Try and bring that temperature down, for god's sake.'

Hermione quickly seized the task and attacked it with the same determination as a transfiguration exam. Ron could do nothing but look on.

'Come on, Harry, please wake up…'

*

The dark arts, Harry concluded after the end of what turned out to be a very long day, certainly had a tight grip on the curriculum. Harry's worst lesson, Potions, had been replaced by a satanic equivalent in the form of Poisons, taught by Lucius Malfoy himself. This was certainly a very, very bad dream. Every lesson was with the Slytherins, as if the constant contact with the Gryffindors was mean to sap their morale and make them eventually give in to the dark tendencies that now appeared to dominate the wizarding word. No wonder they all look so tired, Harry thought as he entered the common room after the dinner of bread and soup, the Gryffindor portions stone cold as the Slytherins delighted in the steam rising from their golden bowls. It was like entering a no-man's land. The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan sat miserably in the corner, normally full of puffs of dodgy smoke and firework sparks, but now simply consisting of three weary boys trying to get through the evening towards their much desired sleep. Hermione was simply curled up by the feeble excuse for a fire, Neville sitting opposite her with his nose in a book (Advanced Rune studies for big-headed know-it-alls by Ima Clevercloggs) while Ron had already escaped up to the boys dorm to seek his refuge in his never ending slumbers. That was all they could do. Sleep and work. Neither particularly appealing on such a cold winter's night, in a draughty tower heated by a few glowing embers in a normally roaring grate.

Harry didn't feel much like sitting down. Most people avoided him like the plague, not wanting to be seen associating with a committed light-sider for the fear of punishment. Harry was beginning to think this was worse than the Dursleys. He had every possibility in front of him, literally at his fingertips, yet to be denied of friends, warmth, nutrition and, even though he hated to admit it, interesting homework was darn right torture. Of course, the dark arts couldn't be described as boring. They were far more complex than Harry ever possibly imagined, which probably explained why only really powerful wizards seemed to excel in them. But there was something inside of him that couldn't comprehend them. It was just like when Moody put the imperious course on him, that time so long ago in the fourth year. That small, powerful voice in the back of his head willed him to rebel, to be more conscious and ethical toward this most horrible of situations. And one thing Harry certainly possessed was will power.

The common room cleared quite early on, most of the Gryffindors too weary to continue their feeble attempts at entertainment. Harry supposed that even basic pleasures were banned for those not of correct mind. Soon enough, only Hermione remained, continuing to stare into the rapidly fading grate, barely alight with the last of its embers dying slowly as the moon began to make its ascent over the mountains aside. Harry moved silently towards her.

'Do you mind if I sit?'

The voice made her jump a foot in the air as she swung round to meet Harry's emerald green eyes, twinkling like beacons in the darkness of the common room. She glanced around nervously, checking for spies, reporters. The situation did nothing for her untrusting nature.

'No, please do.' She said, almost eagerly. Harry sat and sighed heavily.

'Those are the only words that have been said to me since breakfast.'

Hermione said nothing. Harry could barely make her out in the gloom as the silence engulfed them with the coming night, a storm clearly brewing over the hills behind the nearby village of Hogsmeade. It was then that Harry noticed the only light in the room was coming from the fire: the lanterns that decorated in common room were forever out, covered in misty, decaying cobwebs indicating a severe lack of usage down the years. The place looked in the midst of undeserved neglect, dusty and unkempt like many of its occupants. Hermione's sad, pale face was illuminated by the fading fire, tired and exhausted more so than anyone else. She looked in desperate need of a hug.

'Herm…' Harry began unsure whether Hermione was listening. 'Have you ever wondered 'What if'?'

'What do you mean?' she said quietly. She turned to face him.

'What if things were different. What if…'

'Harry, if you're talking about that silly parallel universe thing, then I'm not listening. Come back to the real world.'

'Please, just listen to me.' He was pleading with her now. She looked as if she wanted to cry. Harry shifted to the arm chair closer to her and fixed her with his gaze.

'What if you could change things? Anything? What if the world, this world, didn't have to be like this? What…' Harry paused, just for a second. 'Would your ideal world be like?'

Silence. The wind rattled the pane of glass that shielded them from the hydrological onslaught. Hermione drew a deep breath and stared right back at Harry.

'An ideal world. That's a joke. A world can never be ideal. It is life's little imperfections that make it so interesting. Its just in my case they seem to dominate…'

'Just try.'

She hung her head and closed her eyes wearily. Harry leaned forward.

'In an ideal world, I'd be able to cast a spell without putting someone in the infirmary for a week.' Harry smiled. The ultimate irony. 'I would have friends. I would be living a little more dangerously while people like Neville Longbottom would be just as content crawling around searching for a pet toad. I would be able to sleep at night without the daunting fear of what the morning would bring. I'd send owls back to my parents, causing them shock and delight as I recall yet another hilarious episode in the aftermath of a rewarding Quidditch match. I would be able to take the Slytherin's insults with my head held high, proving them wrong by acing a transfiguration test. In an ideal world…' she paused, uncertain to continue. Harry merely stared as Hermione looked straight at him, unblinking. 'I would know you so much better.'

'But you do Hermione. In that world. My world. And like you said, it has its imperfections.'

She looked at him, confused, but at last willing to listen. Harry softly seized the opportunity.

'In that world, Voldemort still exists. He is always a threat, but one that we can realistically face. In that world, I have no family. My parents are dead at the dark Lord's hand, me only surviving as a consequence of a sacrifice and dumped on the doorstep of unloving relatives, only with a lightning bolt scar as a memorial to the whole sorry incident. In that world, I knew nothing of love, family and happiness until I entered the castle walls.' Harry drew a sharp breath, unsure of how to phrase himself. Until I met you, He thought silently. 

'What are you saying, Harry?' Hermione enquired almost in an unbelieving whisper. Harry didn't leave time to ponder.

'In that world, you, me and Ron are as close as brothers. More than that. I don't think we could have taken on a giant chess set, a three headed dog, a possessed professor, a basilisk, a mass murderer- falsely accused, but that's another story- and a hoard of death eaters intent on our demise at every turn and not emerge with some form of bond.' Harry finally breathed. 'And that's ignoring Dobby…'

Hermione was strangely silent. It appeared that Harry had hit the right nerve.

'So what I'm trying to say…' he leaned further forward, his face barely inches from Hermione's, whose eyes were wide with realisation, 'Is that even if you think things can't change, they can. You just need to believe in all the possibilities. Believe that somewhere you can be top of the class. Somewhere you and me know each other inside out.' Harry finally stood and backed away, Hermione merely becoming a figure in the dark, occasionally lit up by the rampaging lightning storm that had struck up outside.

'Its time to make that somewhere here.'

And in a flash of lightning, he was gone.

Hermione sat back in her chair, breathing deeply as if she'd been running. That was the first proper conversation she'd held with Harry in her life. It had been so wanted. Like an unachievable aim, similar to her studies, something she could wish for all she wanted, but was out of reach. But he had just passed her the ladder. She now had the means, the method, the way paved out for her. She was going to make things change.

*

'It's just like we thought, Poppy.'

'So what can we do Albus? Surely we can make the boy more comfortable. Can't we move him to the hospital wing? I have everything I need there and…'

'No, he needs to be in familiar surrounding for when he wakes up.'

'If he wakes up…'

'Optimism is the key here Poppy. Even you should know that.'

'There isn't any need for the quarantine charm, but I suppose its still disturbing for the rest of the Gryffindors to see him in this state.'

'He's got everyone he needs right here in this room. Keep the charm on.'

'Whatever you say, headmaster.'

Hermione hadn't heard them. She'd fallen asleep, still holding Harry's hand, as the Headmaster and the nurse silently left the room.

The next day dawned unfairly bright. Ron was lucky enough to be able to sleep in his own bed: Although Dumbledore had conjured up a very comfortable sleeping bag for Hermione, deeply purple in colouring and very tempting for periods in the night, she felt magnetically attached to Harry's side like never before. When danger had previously reared its ugly head, as it seemed to often when Harry Potter was the case, she was never too worried. A little voice inside of her was always calming, telling her everything was going to be all right, and that Harry was stronger than his thin, fragile frame gave him credit. But today, typically today, it had gone strangely silent. Harry was always the rock. Only months before he'd been tied to a tombstone and cut to shreds and yet he was the one who became the reassuring force. Hermione secretly thought Harry was much weaker than he tended to personify. He was always trying to be the hero; to live up to a title bestowed upon him as a mere babe, aiming for the unattainable. But for Hermione, he would forever maintain the first image she'd got of him, a lost little boy in the middle of a muggle station, staring blankly at the barrier between platforms nine and ten, frightened and alone, just seconds before the Weasleys came to the rescue. She'd never mentioned to him that she'd encountered this sight: As far as Harry was aware, he had first clapped eyes upon the infamous Hermione Granger in that compartment on the Hogwarts express, merely seeing her as the bossy know-it-all who was to be avoided at all costs. How things had changed. Five years on and they were, with Ron, closer than she'd ever dared hope. It was the best situation. Her ideal world. And she wasn't going to let some deadly disease get in the way of a bond that strong.

He hadn't woken, but at least the shiver attacks had died down to a minimum. It had been frightening to see him convulse like that, like an invisible hand was shaking the very life force out of him while she looked on, helpless. In fact at times she wanted to scream out at the pure horror of it all, wanting to wish it away with a swish of her wand. To make it all better like a mother does to a fallen child, tending to the delicately bleeding knees with a magical kiss that would take all the pain away. But all she could do was watch. 

She remembered sitting through Dumbledore's explanation, barely taking it in as she faced the reality of her inevitable guesswork. Instead she just stared straight ahead, holding on to a remarkable calmness that unnerved Ron to the point where he felt compelled to freak out for the both of them.

'Harry is very, very ill,' he began, in such a blunt way that each of the words drummed into Hermione like an industrial drill. Ron looked decidedly sick. 'I haven't seen the likes of this illness before, but I won't hide anything from the two of you: It has been known to be fatal.'

Hermione could see Ron biting down hard on his lip. It then occurred to her that she'd never seen the gangly redhead cry. And that she didn't want to. She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder as Dumbledore continued with a nod from Madam Pomfrey.

'But Harry is strong. He is a fighter. He won't take this lying down. It is only the weak and feeble-minded who let this poison play havoc in their minds. Let it manipulate their memories and thoughts through the dream like state it creates. Let them believe their worst nightmare is in fact the life they live. To drive them to the edge of despair, beyond that. Until they lose the will to live. Until they give up the fight. Only through the will of the mind does the poison become fatal. And that is where our hope lies.'

The words echoes around Hermione's head, confirming her worst fears with the speed that the poison created them for Harry. She felt dizzy, unable to concentrate on her Professor, just the sleeping form of Harry as he withered and twitched.

'But…' stuttered Ron, 'What can we do? Surely we can do something? I can't just sit here, I...'

'Mr Weasley,' Dumbledore said softly with the emotion of a wise old grandparent 'Sitting here is the best thing you can do for Harry. Both of you.' He swung round to glance at Hermione, where she met his eye that still kept its twinkle even in the most trying of circumstances, as if he knew something she didn't. 'You need to stay here. Classes will end for the Christmas Holiday in a few days. I will make sure that you won't miss anything. But for now, you need to stay here and talk to him. Coax him out of this state; remind him exactly what reality is. What he's left behind.'

'I will come and check up on his progress at regular intervals,' said Madam Pomfrey, her contribution injecting an air of efficiency into the otherwise shaky air. 'Take this charge seriously, Miss Granger, Mr Weasley. Regular doses of mensura root will keep the physical sides at bay, but mentally, you two hold the cure.'

As the teachers left, both companions fell into a deep, entrancing silence, merely standing at the end of the bed, staring at their charge with unemotional faces that were grey with their own internal struggles. Ron mumbled something about needing to sleep and delved into the security of his four poster bed, still to emerge. He wasn't handing responsibility over to Hermione: He simply knew she had to take the dominant position. And suprisingly, she didn't argue. She just sat next to Harry, held his hand, and talked to him.

*

'Harry…'

He woke with a startle from his position on the common room sofa: his bed in the dormitory seeming less inviting in light of the silence provoked by his presence, so he'd snuck back down to the common room to lay up for the night. He'd fallen asleep with a book in his hand, which fell to the floor with a clatter as he sat up to come face to face with the bushy haired silhouette in the early morning twilight, casting an errie blue shadow across the cold, wooden floor. The silhouette edged closer and knelt next to his chair.

'I believe you,' it said, as it now emerged fully into the light and took the form of Hermione. 'I want to believe you. It's the most far fetched thing I've ever heard, but somehow I believe you.'

Harry breathed in to give his unending thanks, but Hermione silenced him.

'You don't deserve to be here. I can see that now. You've changed. The Harry I know still lurks in you, but only as an alter ego. He's a bitter and twisted individual who does nothing to help his own reputation. He doesn't attempt to communicate, he merely acts as bad as the Slytherins, suspicious and uncaring. You demonstrated the opposite characteristics as soon as you entered the room.'

Harry couldn't reply. He couldn't find the words.

'The Harry I know wouldn't speak to me, wouldn't wish to associate with a Weasley like a brother, or help me with homework. He wouldn't even attempt to defend me against accusations of mudblood…' Harry blushed in the darkness, frightfully aware that his silent indignation hadn't gone unnoticed. 'He'd simply let it float over his head as I spend yet another night crying into my pillow, dreaming hungrily of home. You're an ideal Harry. You're the Harry who's lurking beneath the frown. The Harry I imagine you to be. The one I want to know, and the one I want to help.'

They sat in silence for a while, both looking intently at the ground. Then Harry stood up, dragging a piece of material behind him as he ventured toward the portrait door. Hermione stood up sharply.

'Where are you going?'

He turned slowly on the spot, arching an eyebrow in the lessening gloom.

'Think Hermione. Think like my Hermione. Where else do we go when we need the answers?'

She paused for a minute, as if the girl from the other world was reaching across, speaking to her with words as clear as Phoenix song. She knew.

'The Library?'

Harry grinned from ear to ear, slinging his invisibility cloak over the both of them as they silently stepped out of the portrait hole.

_______________

__

Part Three: The Merging

It was still dark when they reached the library; a dust infested room with a thousand year's world of knowledge held captive between the thick covers of its volumes. Unlike the common room, it was dimly lit with the most minimal of torches around its edges despite the time of day. However, it remained deserted, and that suited Harry and Hermione down to the ground. 

Harry was right to presume that, even in this universe, the librarian wouldn't be up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning. They quietly sneaked into the cold, empty room and felt secure enough to remove the cloak, Harry taking the floating material in his hands and neatly folding it into the pocket of his robes as the pair of them delved into the endless shelves in their search for a solution. 

'What are we exactly searching for, Harry?' asked Hermione in a quiet squeak. 'The only reference we have in here is, oh, oops!' she got distracted as she knocked one of many copies of Moste Potente Potions to the floor with a dull thud that seemed to be magnified in those early hours. They both froze, holding their breath as they listened intently to anyone being made aware of their unwelcome presence. After a moment, Hermione continued. 'This library is just full of Dark Arts stuff. This school is pessimism central.'

This obviously got Harry thinking. Suddenly, he dashed down toward the back of the library with Hermione hot on his heels, heading straight into its familiar depths. Surely if the dark arts were prominent, then he'd find all the books he'd need in…

'The restricted section?' Hermione said, completely puzzled. Indeed, it looked as if these books hadn't been opened for the best part of a century. Most of the covers were covered so thick with dust the titles were barely visible, their gold writing fading upon the mahogany spines of the books. Harry used the sleeve of his robes to clean the untouched volumes as his face became buried in a frown of concentration, scanning the text for a useful point of reference.

'What we need…' he began, pulling off a carefully selected text or two, 'is some sort of medical reference book. Something to tell us what we're dealing with. Just a list of symptoms, probably from a dark arts book, and hopefully a cure among this lot.'_ Magical Maladies Miracles _by Angelina Sniffles fell to the floor with a clunk. Harry continued his search.

'So… said Hermione behind him, ' You say, want to find some sort of illness that starts off, like a fever, lots of colours, shivers, sweats, entices a trans-dimensional coma and places the victim in a dream-like alternate reality where your worst nightmares are on the rampage, causing such an extent of despair that if given into, will cause an form of involuntary suicide?'

'Yeah, that's it…' Harry said absently. Suddenly he looked up. 'What?'

Hermione grinned. She held a particularly large volume open in her lap.

'I think I've got it.'

Harry, despite the diereses of the situation, couldn't resist smiling back.

'Now that's more like it!'

*

They'd taken up shifts: Ron being the heavy sleeper he was, guarded over Harry's form in the daylight hours while Hermione took over in the stillness of the nights, Ron sleeping soundly as she tormented herself with the silence the darkness brought. There were so many things she wanted to say to Harry, so many comforting words that were forming into sentences in her ever weary brain, but none she could seem to utter. She just held his hand, as before, trying to convey exactly what she was feeling through the language of human touch. She'd never felt so inadequate. 

It wasn't as if this was the first time Harry's life was in danger: Rescuing the Philosopher's stone, tackling the Basilisk in the Chamber of secrets, Pettigrew's escape… all those times, she hadn't had time to stop and think, to ponder upon the effect his death would cause upon her seemingly small and insignificant life. Her brain always went into auto pilot, concentrating on the task at hand, whether logical riddles or the complicated consequences of short term time travel upon the space time continuum. She knew that if she stopped for just a minute, a second, she'd crack. It was the same during the triwizard tournament. Her heart was in her throat as he'd swerved past the Hungarian Horntail, despite her unwavering confidence in his victory she still dug her nails into her worry-stricken face as he edged ever closer to the dragon's lethal spikes. But it was the third task that drove her closer to the edge. Able to see little despite her prominent position in the stands, the errie silence that followed Harry and Cedric's unexpected departure were probably the worst of her life. No-one else in the crowd seemed to notice, just caught up in the excitement of the task as Fleur and Krum were rescued from the maze... they presumed Harry and Cedric were still there, wandering in circles for their hopeless search for the cup. But somehow, unexplainably, she could tell something was horribly wrong, and that Harry was in danger. It was as if she was in that graveyard alongside him, but completely unable to help. Only when Harry re-appeared on the outskirts of the maze did she come back to her senses, when she saw Cedric's body… an involuntary tear rolled down her cheek as she squeezed Harry's hand tighter at the horror of the memory. Voldemort's return hadn't been the most pleasant time of her life at Hogwarts.

But now he lay beyond his own help, in a dream-like state only his unconscious mind could control, although Madam Pomfrey's potion supposedly made him more receptive to outside voices, all they could do to draw him out of his trance. She needed to speak to him. She needed to tell him everything, remind him what he was missing. She needed to tell him the truth. Her heart was beating as loud as thunder in her chest as she reached over and swept his hair out of his face, now clammy after hours of pain and sweat, horribly cold. She paused over that infamous scar, burning hot compared to the rest of his poisoned body that shuddered uncontrollably at her delicate touch. She sighed, closed her eyes and began to speak.

*

Ron was sitting back in the dimly lit common room. He often got up early, even in mid-winter. Sometimes he saw sleep and isolation as one and the same thing: A blissful escape from the horrors of the day, where he could day dream about a life that didn't involve daily sessions with the spiders or stone cold lumpy soup. He often thought about the Hogwarts his parents described in his elaborate bedtime stories, the one he'd hoped to attend. Where reputations were made and lost over a game of Quidditch, trips to Hogsmeade in the early summer evenings, a game of endless adventures and forever friends. Ha. Like that would ever happen.

They hadn't banked on Voldemort's intervention when that little fairytale was written. They hadn't banked on his literal take over, the ministry, the school, and to an unknown extent, the muggle world. Clever move that: Putting the entire government under the Imperius curse so that the muggles would remain quiet and co-operative. The muggles never took their politicians seriously in the first place, so it made little difference. They never were satisfied.

And that was how this sorry state of affairs were formed. The Dark Lord still wanted to educate the youth, but under his own dark flag, the lucky to join him in the death eaters, the co-operative at favoured positions in the _dictak_ that now masqueraded as the ministry, the unlucky, stupid and rebellious often wound up dead or mysteriously missing. Ron merely survived by attempting to fit in that middle category. He kept his head down, his light side contacts quiet, and simply prayed his peace wouldn't be disturbed. But that was never going to happen, especially if Hermione Granger had anything to do with it.

For now she entered the common room, her sudden appearance startling Ron into rising from his seat to meet he gaze, a previously absent twinkle in her eye light with a renewed passion that puzzled Ron for a second. He'd always, deep down, liked Hermione. He liked the idea of her companionship. But the divides the dark arts caused which ripped apart the school, even internally the houses apart, always prevented too much free relation. They all had to keep themselves to themselves, for fear of unforeseen accusation. However, that was a line about to be crossed.

'Ron, I need your help.'

Her bluntness cut through the dawn air like a piercing knife. There was a need for expansion.

'What makes you think I'll be able to give it to you, Hermione?' Ron asked, raising an eyebrow of a questioning nature. 'If you need to test out some potion on me, You're lovely and everything but I don't fancy sending the weekend puking my guts up.'

Ah, the familiar sarcasm. Hermione smiled. According to Harry, some things hadn't changed in this universe. She tried to be brief.

'Don't worry, you can keep your bodily fluids in their rightful place. I just need you to listen to me. It's about Harry…'

'What about him?' he snapped back, looking around the room to make sure no one had sneaked in. 'You're not doing yourself any favours by hanging around with him. It's a major case of survival of the fittest here. Darwinism in action.'

'No, you don't understand. The Harry that is currently sitting in a history of dark arts classroom is not the Harry we knew last week. Something's changed. Why else would he attempt to talk to you? And me for that matter?'

'I just thought he'd finally lost it. My heart goes out to the guy, it really does. But Herm - '

'Ron, please listen. Harry hasn't had a personality transplant overnight. It's something else. I had a really long talk with him the other night and he spelt out a few home truths. He's made me realise we have an option. We can sit here and feel miserable for ourselves for the next three years, hoping to get from one day to the next, or we can sit up and find our own path.' She looked almost close to tears as she took a step closer. 'I just don't know how to explain this without you thinking I should be locked up in St. Mungo's. He's made me realise things need to change round here. We shouldn't have to stay awake at night worrying about what the hell those gits who call themselves our teachers will inflict on us the next day. And we can't sit around waiting for Dumbledore. We need to get defensive, and helping Harry is just the first step. But I... we can't do this alone Ron. We need your help. I don't want to leave you behind. You just have to trust me.'

'Trust is a very strong word.'

'It's the only thing we've got.'

The pair were silent for a while, unsure what to make of the sudden change of attitude. For Hermione, it had been uplifting, as if a whole world of opportunity was open before her at the hands of a virtual stranger, a classmate whose isolation caused much curiosity but little contact had suddenly become like a beacon in the night, safely drawing the little ship into shore. For once, there was a choice: Either hold onto the faint possibility of there being something better, or settle down for a life of depravation and regret. Ron was merely confused; Hermione was speaking in riddles normally attributed to the more studious like Neville, making little sense but seeming certainly more appealing than being a coward and simply taking everything his enforced road threw at him. He was a fighter, and at last he was going to fight back. He was quickly resolved and rose slowly from his chair.

'My brothers are going to kill me…'

Hermione cracked a smile so foreign to her features it was as if the dam of insecurities had come crumbling down. It wasn't her imagination. She wasn't the only one unprepared for second best. As Harry had said, the dream team were back. Before he could change his mind, she grabbed Ron's arm and dragged him out of the common room and into the early morning light.

*

Harry had explained the situation with such ease and elegance, it was as if it had come from the pen of an experienced novelist. Ron suppressed his amazement to his usual raise eyebrow as Harry trawled through the mountains of evidence to support his theory, Ron using his sarcastic nature as his typical defensive tactic. Harry smiled to himself as he imagined his Ron's reaction to such a tale, his mouth wide open with amazement and some form of childhood innocence he maintained through the tricks and jaunts of his many siblings. Harry supposed that in this world, you had to grow up fast.

They had to keep their liaisons secret: Harry was never going to be flavour of the month with Malfoy and Snape. For the first time since his unexpected entry to the nightmare, Harry was pleased the common room was deserted so early on in the evenings: It allowed the musketeers to collaborate their findings. No one ever took any notice whether he was there or not, and Hermione said she was normally the last to leave, the insomnia that plagued her in Harry's reality magnified many times in this one. Ron, being pureblood, was generally left to his own devices, as long as he kept out of trouble. A clean slate was essential for such research into the light arts.

'This stuff isn't half as bad as you'd think…' he said one night, about a week into their midnight crusades. 'I mean, some of the spells are dead useful, and not half as strenuous.'

Hermione frowned. 'What do you mean? And shouldn't you be looking up some sort of reversal spell for Harry's hallucination? If you're caught trying to widen your inventory then we're all done for…'

'No,' said Harry suddenly, 'Ron's right you know. The reason you struggle in lessons is possibly that you're not cut out for it.'

'Oh nice. You're joining in the taunts now as well? I know I'm about as good with my Imperius curse as a vegetarian in a slaughter house, but…'

'What I mean, Hermione, is that you may not be good at the dark arts as it's simply not in your nature. My Hermione hates to break the rules. The day she Avada Kedavra's someone out of pure choice, me and Snape will stand before the alter. You are much more like her than you realise.' Harry stood up and handed her back her wand, previously disarmed from her by Ron in the style of a professional hit-wizard. 'You thrive on spells that are useful, which have more of a purpose than to hurt and kill. You're a light sider and you know it. Harness that ability and you'll be the best witch in the school.'

She looked at him, and then at Ron, unsure of what to do. Ron simply leaned forward and placed a pencil in front of her at the table, giving her a reassuring look.

'Wingardium Leviosa!'

And with hardly effort at all, the pencil rose into the air. As softy as a feather, it glided across the room, Hermione delighting in making it swerve and dive through the echoes of her voice, until it softly came to rest on the table where it originated. The change in her was instantaneous, reminiscent of when she first discovered her unique abilities. The same warmth that flows through your fingers when you discover the perfect wand, a partnership for life, for mischief and magic, together forever. It was exhilarating. She smiled widely at her companions, ready to explode with happiness at the hope such a simple spell had given her. If she hadn't believed Harry before, she definitely did now.

Ron whooped and punched the air with enthusiasm as Harry gave her a congratulatory pat on the back. She blushed furiously at their little out bust and returned to the book she'd been franticly scanning. They'd been at it for a few days now, Harry sneaking out every night to get another book out of the restricted section, normally only used in Advanced defence against the light arts. Now that had been a strange lesson: Learning how the spells he normally took for granted were reversed to cause as much devastation as possible, burying people in mountains of stationary with a banishing charm for instance. Harry still had the stab marks from Draco Malfoy's particularly sharp quill. Some things never changed, he sighed to himself. 

Harry had been incredibly shocked by the transformation occurring in his two partners in crime. Hermione was almost recognisable as her old self engrossed in a battered and fire tinged copy of The Standard Book of Spells Grade 7. Always ahead of herself, thought Harry typically. They already had a vague idea of what they were searching for. Hermione had hit the nail on the head with the definition of Harry's condition, something known as the Alternous curse. Apart from a list of symptoms, they hadn't made much progress, although study time was limited to the unearthly hours of the night when peace was ensured in the poor and pathetic light of the Gryffindor common room. Although their extra-cirricular activity was benefiting Ron and Hermione, Harry was rapidly beginning to lose all hope for his own plight. As Ron gradually slipped into a raucous slumber in the chair in front of the fire, Hermione went over to Harry and perched on the table opposite.

'Tell me about it.'

'Huh?'

His Hermione was certainly far less cryptic. She rolled her eyes, aggravated. 'What's bothering you. Why you've been staring into space for the past half hour while Ron's been shaking hands with the sandman.' They both grinned as they glanced at the sleeping figure of the red head, snorting occasionally as his chest rose and fell with his soothingly rhythmic breathing.

'I suppose…' he began, unsure how to exactly phrase the issue, 'I suppose I'm just finding this whole thing a little strange. It feels too real to be a dream, too complex. I'm not even sure if that other world exists. Whether you were right in the first place. Whether a death eater really did fry my brains.' He sighed heavily and sat back in his chair. 'It would make more sense than this…'

'Harry, don't give up on us just yet. That's something your Hermione would say, right?'

Harry smiled weakly at the memory. 'Yeah, that's right. She'd set up dorm in the library if she had the chance.' Harry's head hung low as he closed his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. The previous world felt like a memory of childhood to him, coming in fading bouts, incomplete yet hideously alluring. He wanted to hide in them, to close his eyes and return to them, an innocent time where everyone was in on the secret, somewhere where he didn't have to put on this act, where not everyone depended on him. 

'Tell me about her.'

Harry snapped his head back up and looked at Hermione. 'Who?'

'The other woman. Your Hermione. She sounds like my kind of girl.'

'Well, for starters she's far less confusing. If there's something on her mind, she comes out with it straight. Unless she finds the library too much of a temptation. I remember this one time…' He paused, thoughtfully for a moment. 'I'm sorry, this is really strange. I'm talking to you but I keep thinking I'm talking to her. You two are so similar. I can't explain it…'

'I think I know. Your Hermione exists in me as a possibility. Just like when you met people for the first time, you pick up on certain parts of their personality. You're so in tune with your Hermione that when meeting me, you saw her. It's taken time to adjust.'

'But you are like her. You're slowly turning into her…'

'That's because you've drawn it out. You're an undesirable influence Potter,' she smirked, playfully ruffling his already messed up hair. 'My mother wouldn't approve.' 

He smirked back. 'Get back to your books Granger.'

However, both of them failed to notice the pair of watery eyes in the darkest corner of the room, registering their every move.

*

'Harry, I don't know whether you can hear me. I don't even know why I'm trying. You know me, I'm a little dubious of Dumbledore's guesswork at the best of times, but I suppose I've just got to trust him. He said I should talk to you. If you were wondering why your stomach feels like crap, it's just the potion Madam Pomfrey gave you. Nothing to worry about. It'll help you get better. I hope.

'Nothing much has happened here. Most people have gone home for Christmas. Ron and I were going to stay anyway, so it makes no odds. Snape was a git as usual. Given us a killer essay about antidotes. Revision he says. Ron says outright torture. For once I think I agree with him. Must be a sign I'm growing up. I've got a secret feisty side. Heh heh.' 

She paused for a moment, still holding his hand. It felt pointless to go on: It was like talking to a brick wall. Nevertheless, she squeezed it tighter as she continued.

'Harry…' she said softy as Ron murmured in his sleep. She didn't want him to hear this. 'I know you spend all your time being the hero. I know that's what's expected of you. Just because of a scar on your forehead. I know that you'd give it all up in an instant, just to be normal. Or it's closest equivalent. Normal is certainly an underused term around here. And I know that everything seems to happen to you and that this is no exception. But I also know you. I know you can't act any other way. And I'm not asking you to change. Just not to give up on me. I hate being dependent on you. When I was younger, I always said I'd never rely on anybody. I'm too much of a burden even for myself. But the reality is that I don't know how we'd cope without you. It seems like you're the wall everyone breaks themselves against. And if the wall collapses… I just don't want to think about it. A lot of people depend on you Harry. Please wake up. If not for them…for me.'

She began to whisper, fiddling with his fingers as she spoke, tears beginning to grace her pale face, trembling in the moonlight. She took a deep breath.

'You're always the one telling me I should believe in every possibility. And after Pettigrew, Moody, Quirrell and the rest, at least I can do is believe. I have so much faith in you Harry.' She didn't even attempt to halt the flow of tears, now free-falling into the bed. 'I have faith. You're going to wake up. You're going to open your eyes and wonder what we were all so worried about. Wherever you are, I know you can hear me, Harry, I…'

'Hermione?'

Hermione felt goosebumps forming all over her back as Harry groaned, a noise so alien to the usual muteness of the room, his eyes flickering for an instant, not registering. He gasped and then regained her composure, squeezing his hand encouragingly, willing him to wake. _Come on…come on…_

But nothing. It was over in an instant. Later, She wondered if she imagined it as the silence yet again engulfed them as she continued on her watch deep into the night. Maybe she'd hope to provoke a response, longed for her name on his lips like nothing in the world, so much so that her weary mind misled her. That was probably it. She was getting irrational in her puberty. But still she sat there, listening, hoping…

*

'Hermione, time to swap.'

Ron's voice was sleepy and unemotional in the morning, as Hermione lazily raised her head from where in lay at the side of Harry's bed, the sheets still damp from her secret tears. She tried, in vain, to rub them dry before she stood up and faced Ron. As soon as she spoke, she regretted it.

'I heard Harry speak last night.'

Ron looked at her, wide-eyed. 'What?'

'He spoke. I was talking to him, and he groaned, and…' she stopped herself. No he hadn't. She'd imagined it, was desperate for it. She was tired, and the night was just playing tricks on her. She regained her composure and sighed heavily, giving in to her doubts. 'That was it. He groaned. Probably nothing. Just thought I'd mentioned it.'

'Oh, right,' muttered Ron, unconvinced. 'Just get some sleep. These late nights aren't doing you much good. Party animal. Chin up old girl.'

He sat down in the chair Hermione had been occupying as she retreated to the bathroom. Plunging her face in a basin of cold water, she brought her dripping features up to the misty mirror, Ron in the background loudly reading the Quidditch results. She looked at the reflection and a stranger looked at her back. Someone who'd been to the ends of the earth, her complexion grey and lifeless, her hair matted and frizzy beyond control, someone on the verge of tears. It wasn't her. She got her wand out her pocket, quickly tidying up her bushy curls, hoping for an improvement. None. _See what he does to you?_ She thought. She had to get out of there. She needed some air.

'Hermione, where are you going? What are you doing?' cried Ron as she whipped past him, trying to conceal a fresh wave of tears, reaching the window and opening it. 

'Just stepping out for a bit,' she managed to mutter. And in a flash, she was gone.

________________

__

Part Four: The Spy

'My Lord?'

The headmaster's study was only lit by a roaring fire, flickering in the night and casting great waves of warmth across an otherwise draughty room. It was as far from Dumbledore's abode as Harry would possibly imagine: The frames of the previous headmasters and mistresses were either strangely empty of their occupants, or the fallen figures lurked in the corners of their canvases, heads hung low, ashamed of what had become of their dream. The office's current occupant said nothing to this address, staring blankly at the flames, a face remaining cold and unemotional. He simply waved a hand for his companion to continue.

'I was just doing the evening rounds, in the Gryffindor tower, just like you asked, and, and…' he was so eager to spill the beans that he stuttered on the simplest of words. His master sighed impatiently.

'Get on with it.'

'And I was in the Gryffindor tower, and I overheard…something.'

'Do you wish to maintain your limbs for the remainder of the evening, or are you such a pathetic excuse for a wizard that…'

'My humblest apologies my Lord … anyway, the useless muggle girl, Granger, and the Potter boy were having the most interesting conversation. It would appear that they are engaged in a little twilight studying which is certainly not on the approved reading list.'

'Such as?' said the headmaster lazily. He was beginning to lose interest.

'I think they'd totally ransacked the restricted section, my Lord. Standard Grade books. Dark arts defence books. Something of a light arts revival going on, methinks.'

At this, the headmaster bolted from his seat, not out of shock, but in a determined manner, set to action at the mere utterings of his servant's word. He stood and faced him, his shielded eyes unknowingly focused on the informer's face, pale and disturbed.

'Granger and Potter…Granger and Potter…' he began to pace his office, in deep thought. 'That's a combination I wouldn't have thought of. Any idea what exactly they were researching?'

'I'm afraid…' he began, true to his word as he began to shake with fear, 'That is all I heard. I will keep my eye out, of course my Lord. I do not want to fail you. That would be a pain beyond death, for I am forever pledged to your faithful service and…'

'Stop your ramblings Wormtail. You're no better than that excuse for a squib that preceded you. Continue with your deployment. For now you are excused.'

Wormtail, his watery eyes closed in gratitude, murmured his thanks and slipped out the office. The headmaster made a mental note to keep a closer eye on the Potter boy for the foreseeable future. He was still young enough to give in to his natural tendencies.

*

'Any luck Ron?'

'Not a sausage, mate.'

Harry had to suppress his grin despite the group's inability to produce anything that might be remotely useful. For a minute or two, when engrossed in his own neglected volume freshly plucked from the restricted section, he could have been back in his world, solving the year's latest mystery, the most contemporary scam, researching the most modern Quidditch plays. Encouraged by a more positive slant to his study, the gleam of mischief so normally prominent in his twin brothers seemed to be greater in the eyes of Ron, who was currently enthralled and distracted by the wild possibilities of engorgement charms. It looked as if Hogwarts was to be introduced to the wonder of canary creams. The talk, although minimal due to the sheer amount of spells to learn, was as close to normality as Harry had experienced since the nightmare had begun. But the over-exposure to the dark arts had obviously taken its toll, Ron much less willing to lash out without thinking, Hermione lacking her usual insurmountable confidence, in its place a shy and retiring girl who was only just emerging from the chrysalis. Their experiences had given both his companions a much sharper edge, now converted to a greater thirst for change. It was as much an advantage as previously a hindrance. It gave everything a different dimension somehow.

They were putting together a plan, step by step. They'd found nothing specific about drawing someone out of a fever induced reality nightmare to the likes Harry believed he was experiencing. The medical references, of course, had information regarding the treatment of the sleeping patient, but none on what to do with a victim stuck on the wrong side of consciousness. It was certainly to be a hit and miss attempt. Maybe some form of dimension-jumping ritual. But Hermione refused to risk it, and didn't want to be scraping Harry's remains off the Quidditch pitch unless it was for a far more worthy cause. Harry had blushed a little at Hermione's concerns, giving colour to his cheeks for the first time in days, while Ron rolled his eyes at her party-pooper thesis. All three had concluded their best bet was to re-design the ritual, better known as Actuallis, but it was dangerous and experimental, despite his obvious fondness for Hermione, Harry was still a little apprehensive of her magical abilities in this reality.

Such a judgement hardly acted as discouragement for the newly revived witch. While Ron and Harry continued to trawl through the forbidden texts for anything useful, her magical repertoire had grown immensely. She was almost back on form, but five years of intellectual knocking had its drawbacks. But Harry had taken on the task of destroying that particular demon. It felt like they'd covered the first three years in only a couple of days: Hermione's talents had been so down-trodden by the strain her existence put on her that once unleashed there was no stemming the tide. The floodgates were well and truly open.

Harry stopped his pondering when he had to dodge a flying pillow, Hermione getting the summoning charm down to a perfected art. Harry sighed as the pillow collided with the side of Ron's head, getting an exclamation that Mrs Weasley certainly would not have approved of and a giggle out of Hermione, now returning to the books with a vengeance. Suddenly her eyes grew wide.

'Harry…' she began, 'Did you ever tackle Dementors in your, erm, defence against the Dark arts lessons?'

Harry's face temporarily greyed at the thought of the hideous creatures, their scaly faces masked on black and breath whistling during that fateful encounter on the lake so long ago. He nodded.

'Well, then you should remember that in order to defeat them, as according to this…' she began to quote from the lengthy text. 'Dementors drain a wizard of their happiest memories, leaving only nightmares and the ultimate in despair… a patronus needs to be conjured using an individual's happiest memory to draw the Dementor's attack… Expecto Patronum is the desired incantation… and so on.' She paused for a minute, as Ron's mind went into action making a connection.

'So what you're saying Hermione, is that if we summon our own Patronus when we do the Actuallis ritual…'

'Then we may be able to dictate which reality we open up for access. The best one, if we follow the idea that no world can be utterly perfect. We'd literally guarantee which reality you'd walk into. It's a long shot, but…'

'Hermione,' Ron said suddenly, coming over to the book and examining it with a frown, 'I hate to put a damper on things, but I feel it necessary to point out the fatal flaw in your logic. Think about it. Number one: The Patronus spell is very complex. Advanced light magic stuff. We've barely been at it a week. Number two: I'm not even sure I have a memory that would qualify as happy, especially to the extent the spell is demanding. We're up the creak without a paddle.'

They were silent for a while, all absorbed in their own thoughts. Then Hermione spoke in a quiet voice, still filled with a determination that seemed alien to her softer tones. She drew herself up to her full height and addressed the boys like an army commander.

'Yes, the plan is a bit hit and miss. But it's all we got. There is a need to be flexible. We may not a have a memory, but at least now, thanks to Harry, we have aspirations. Hopes. Dreams. And in a world like this, they can be as strong as any form of happiness. And logic isn't really our forte around here.'

'Honestly, Hermione.' Said Harry, grinning from ear to ear, 'I never thought I'd hear you say that. Logic queen as you are…'

'Drastic times call for drastic measures…' she mumbled as she cleared up the unused books. 'I think it's time to call it a night.'

Ron stood up, yawned and stretched. 'I won't argue with that.'

Hermione watched him disappear up the stairs to the boy's dorm with a bemused smile on her face. He sighed and turned to Harry.

'Ron would stay in his bed all day if we gave him the chance, wouldn't he?'

'Some things never change, Herm.'

Suddenly the expression became puzzled.

'Harry, what did you mean just then?'

'About what?'

'Logic. You said I was the logic queen. What makes you say that?'

'Oh…' Harry looked down at his feet, embarrassed. 'Its just that my Hermione has more logic than most wizards put together. Most of us wouldn't be able to work our way out of a wet paper bag. There was this one time when we had to work out this complex riddle Snape had invented to get to the Philosopher's stone…I told you about that, didn't I? Anyway, she worked it out in a flash, kept muttering to herself, reciting the riddle and then…' 

'You miss her, don't you?'

'I suppose…' Harry was attempting to be macho, but she could see right through it. In reality, he was holding back tears. 'But in theory, I shouldn't, should I? I mean you are her. She's you. You're the same person. You said the other day she exists in you as potential, but…'

'It isn't the same. Is it?'

Harry silently shook his head. He remained staring at the floor. Hermione suddenly grabbed his arm and began leading him toward the portrait whole.

'Where are we going? Don't you think we need to take a low profile at the moment? I…'

'I want to show you something.'

Harry barely had the chance to protest at Hermione spontaneous outburst before he was dragged headfirst past the fat lady and into the dark corridor. The new model certainly had its advantages.

*

'Harry, its Ron. You know, redhead freak, more brothers than you can shake a wand at, Whomping willow and all. Look, I know that we all enjoy a bit of a kip at the best of times, but you do pick your moments, don't you? Just wake up for god's sake, well, in time for the Slytherin match anyway.

'What am I doing? Dumbledore said me and Hermione are supposed to remind you about what you're missing out on, not scolding you for your lack of internal alarm clock. I feel like an idiot doing this, but I suppose we just have to trust the barmy old git on this one. He's normally right. Why break the lucky run this time?

'Let's face it Harry, you're far from insignificant and you know it. I won't give you all the rubbish about the world needing you with you-know-who's return and all of that because I know it's been drummed into you like there's no tomorrow. As if there wouldn't be a tomorrow without you kicking up a fuss. But on second thoughts, that's probably good encouragement to stay asleep. It's the most peace you've had in years. But let's hit the nail on the head. With you out of the frame, You-know-who's Hogwarts campaign will be a walk over. Let's at least give it a fair fight. Hey?'

Ron felt incredibly stupid, talking to a sleeping body which was locked away in cloud cuckoo land, too far gone to take any notice. He sighed and leaned forward in his chair, looking Harry's sleeping form earnestly in the face.

'There's something else though Harry. As much as the school needs you, and you know damn well the Quidditch team does, there are other things worth getting up in the morning for, and she's just jumped out the window.'

He paused, unsure whether to carry on, but somehow he found the confidence.

'Hermione's worried sick, Harry. I've never seen her like this. She refuses to sleep, talk to anyone, even eat a decent meal. She's looking really bad. Just this morning she flipped out and went off on your broom out the window, wanting some 'air' so she said. Yeah right. She can't stand to see you like this. It's breaking her heart. It's like she's already gone into mourning. I think its time to face reality here. I've got to spell out a few home truths. Hermione really cares about you Harry… Me and her are friends, best friends I'd like to think, but I don't even come close to what you and her have. It's something else. You two have that little bit extra, and that is what's coming into play here. She needs you Harry. You are everything she believes in, her own private rock that she's currently using to break herself against, punishing herself for merely acting in a way she can't help. She's blaming herself, and even as a friend I can't stand to watch her put herself through this. Harry, you've got to wake up. If not for everyone else, at least for her. Don't put her through this. She can't help how she feels. And neither can you. Just wake up.'

*

'What's the big surprise then?'

'Keep your voice down…we don't want to get caught…'

Harry was following Hermione through Hogwart's dimly lit corridors, the torches in its many brackets now fading into cinders in the progress of the night. He looked at his watch.

'This is your idea of an early night?'

'Shush!'

She pushed him up against a wall as a small, huddled figure crawled out of a tiny hole, in the woodwork, slipping to the floor with a muffled thud and scuttling out of sight. Harry turned to Hermione, confused.

'What was that about? Are you scared of mice or something?'

'Look, I'll explain when we get there. Come on.'

They continued along their chosen path, a little hurried now, until they ascended the steps of one of the towers into its murky depths and were unable to see where they placed their feet. Luckily there were no trick steps to catch them out. They finally reached the top of what Harry now recognised as the astronomy tower, covered in cobwebs and obviously underused. It was a shame: This was one of Hogwarts most splendid extensions, with a wonderfully elaborate deck and glass dome, the pains of glass framed in ancient iron, the dark but rusty metal forming a circle in the middle of the dome which perfectly framed the night's crescent moon. The other windows in the room looked out across the different points of the compass, the large room being the highest in the school, the view in daylight went on for miles.

It was clear that night: A first since Harry's own arrival. It was obviously normal for the castle to be shrouded in a field of heavy mist, adding to those ancient muggle-repelling charms placed on the ground by the founders over a millennium ago. Hermione was strangely silent, engrossed in the view that towered above their heads, as if she'd never seen the stars before. Then it occurred to Harry that this was most probably the case. He smiled sadly and walked over to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. She turned suddenly at his touch, nervously as if she'd forgotten he was there. Her shoulders fell as she sighed heavily, taking a seat at the window that overlooked the lake and Forbidden forest. Harry sat opposite her as she gazed out across the grounds.

'Why'd you bring me up here Hermione?' he queried. 'Looks as if Astronomy is off the agenda…'

'Is that what this tower was used for? I'd figured as much.' She was reading Harry's face, obviously portraying that an explanation was needed. She complied. 'I found it in my second year. I've only just got the hang of this castle, most of the portraits like to see you end up in trouble and would always give the wrong directions. But once I found it, I knew I had to come back. It's my own thinking place. My little sanctuary. I just took one look at your face back there and thought it was time I shared it.'

Harry didn't know what to say. He merely stared out across the grounds, grateful for her careful consideration. It looked so familiar, right down to Hagrid's hut, now falling rapidly into disrepair, as well as the Whomping willow, swaying gently in the winter breeze. The take over of Voldemort's dark forces was obviously a silent one. He swallowed hard. He continued to stare at the willow, remembering its significance, what lay beneath and all the chaos it caused when its secrets were uncovered.

Hermione wasn't admiring the view. Although it was rare sight to see Hogwarts out of it's foggy fist, there was a sight far more unusual merely feet away from where she was sitting. She'd always known what Harry looked like. He was far from a stranger. She'd just never known him; he'd been this figure in the corner of her eye, almost a kind of forbidden fruit. Everyone had known about him, about his legacy, his parents. The Slytherins spoke of him like he was the scum of the earth, wondering why he was ever allowed to come to Hogwarts. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs didn't even do that, just kept well clear and concentrated on their own survival. But the Gryffindors could hardly avoid him: He was in their common room, their dorms, their classes and dinner table. Their eyes portrayed a message of desperate sympathy, a strong desire to speak their support, but knowing hideously the extent of the consequences. She knew she was risking her education, even her life by sitting with him like this. But deep down, for a reason she was yet to realise, she just didn't care. So many other things seemed more important right now. She cast her eyes down from the characteristically untidy hair to the emerald green eyes lingering for a moment as they focused behind the glasses, examining the grounds like a seeker for a snitch, almost trance like in his concentration. For years she had almost been scared of this boy, the infamous Harry Potter, taken right from the light forces ranks, a political prisoner, a token pupil, an example to all those considering treachery that the dark arts always win. But now she felt she knew him. Even if this was a Harry from an alternate universe, the pure possibility of his existence in this one was an exhilarating thought. 

Her thinking place was always hideously provocative. As he continued to stare, thoughts of his own forming in his mysterious mind, she was beginning to see the extent of the plan they were about to undertake. As well as risking so much through doing large amounts of light magic right under the nose of the authorities, he was going to leave. He was going to walk through that vortex and never turn back, return to a world where he belonged, do what so many longed for by escaping this idea of a madman's nightmare. She could no longer look at him as the possibilities ran through her head, the plan could fail, then he'd be stuck here forever, unable to do anything other than live out his existence, with her and Ron. And by the sound of his stories, maybe, eventually, help defeat Voldemort. No, that's a ridiculous thought. But it didn't eclipse the notion that, deep down, she felt dependant on him. She didn't want him to leave, not just yet.

'Hermione,' he said suddenly, piercing the freezing night air, 'You were going to tell me why were hiding from small furry rodents earlier in the proceedings...'

His eyes didn't leave the Whomping Willow, as if it was a prompt for his thoughts.

'That wasn't any ordinary rodent.' She replied quietly. 'No one knows it's name, but if there's something going on, it's always there, spying, eavesdropping, and before we can stop it the whole staff room knows. Reports it to the headmaster I think. Of course we can't be sure because…'

'Wormtail.'

Harry said this dangerously quietly, bitterly through clenched teeth as his eyes narrowed in an anger she never knew he possessed. It scared her.

'Wormtail? What are you talking about Harry?'

'I'm right in thinking everything about this world is the same, except Voldemort never found my parents. That they escaped and remained hidden, probably with Dumbledore?' Hermione nodded, and Harry turned to fix her with an emerald stare. 'Then that means the Fidelius charm worked. You know about that, don't you?'

'I think so,' said Hermione, unsure where this was heading. 'Isn't that where a secret is hidden in a wizard's soul, unretrivable unless they wish to reveal it?'

'Yeah… anyway, in my reality, my parents performed this spell, initially with his best friend, my godfather, Sirius Black. But they changed at the last minute. Their new secret keeper betrayed them, Voldemort was able to find my house and…'

'It's all right Harry, I get the idea.'

'The other secret keeper faked his death, after a confrontation with my godfather. Sirius was blamed and sent to Azkaban. He escaped at the beginning of my third year and it all came to light. It turned out that the other secret keeper was right under my nose, in my dormitory, on my pillow…'

'What?' she whispered, wide-eyed.

'Peter Pettigrew, along with my Father and Godfather, is Animagus. Pettigrew can change into a rat. He turned to the dark side secretly after leaving school, playing spy. The day he was made my parent's secret keeper, they'd signed their death warrants.'

'Oh Harry.'

They sat in silence for a minute, as Hermione absorbed this alternate stance on events.

'So you think that rat is this Peter Pettigrew?'

'Wormtail, yes. That's what my father called him at school. In my reality he's returned to Voldemort and helped him come back at the end of my fourth year. They almost killed me. They murdered a Hufflepuff, Cedric Diggory, before my very eyes.' Harry paused for a moment, not wanting to talk about it. It had obviously been very painful. 

'So the rat is an Animagus,' she said finally, 'and is reporting everything to the headmaster. That makes sense.'

'Who is the headmaster anyway, Hermione? I haven't heard him mentioned.'

'That's because nobody knows.' Harry stared as a cold breeze swiftly toured the room, causing her hair to sweep over her shoulder and catch the moonlight. 'Snape is deputy, and he seems to run the shop. But no one has ever seen the headmaster. People think he's just one of You-Know-Who's hand puppets, being dictated policy from his hold at the ministry, but I'm not so sure. I don't think even You-Know-Who could entrust Hogwarts to anybody but himself… You control Hogwarts, you control the wizarding community. That's how it used to be anyway.'

'But whoever it is, they have Pettigrew well under their thumb, that's for sure.'

'Hmm.'

Silence engulfed them yet again, as now both Harry and Hermione stared out across the grounds. It was a comfortable situation; Hermione knees drawn up against her chest as she gazed across the lake to the forest beyond, imagining a world where she could enjoy its beauty. The moon was now catching its rays in the lake, making the water sparkle unnaturally bright for a cold winter's night, Harry's warm breath now steaming up the window, eventually hiding the grounds from view. This seemed to be his cue to leave. He stood, and was about to turn to go when something stopped him.

'Harry, will you promise me something?'

Hermione was standing now, looking more serious than Harry had ever seen her. She looked as though she was about to cry. He stepped towards her.

'What is it?' he whispered.

'If everything goes to plan tomorrow…' she began, quiet but demanding, 'all this will be a dream. It will simply be a memory to you, that you'll probably want to disregard forever.'

'Hermione…'

'No, let me finish. I don't want you to forget about us. If you learn anything about this situation, just remember that out there, someone is always worse off. That the best things in life are often the worse for you. Your greatest desire can drive you mad if gaining it is too easy. Just don't forget about us.'

'You have my word.'

'And Harry?'

'Yes?'

'Tell her how you feel, don't hold anything back. She deserves that.'

Harry didn't need her to fill in the blanks. He nodded timidly and left Hermione alone to her thoughts, and her own tears and demons. She muttered a silent prayer, to a God that had seemed so absent, that things would get easier. For everyone. The thundercloud that had been gathering on the horizon let out a low, foreboding rumble.

___________

__

Part Five: The Saving

Harry's condition hadn't improved, but it hadn't worsened either, so his bedside team had taken great solace in that. Madam Pomfrey seemed satisfied with his progress, but could see how frustrating it was on Ron and Hermione's faces. All she could do was give them sympathetic glances as she subjected Harry to another dose of potion, a concoction that made him splutter in his sleep, leaving Hermione to stroke his hair soothingly as he settled back down to his unconscious state. Dumbledore visited often, mainly at night to give Hermione a break, who looked an age older than she had before Harry's sudden and frightening decline. 

'He's doing so much better now, Hermione.' He said one night, a few days before Christmas. 'You say his nightmares have ceased?'

'Yes sir,' she mumbled, not lifting her eyes from Harry's sleeping form. Dumbledore watched his best student sadly; his usual twinkle a little toned down in response to her despair. Hermione always felt her headmaster's eyes could see through any form of concealment, piercing her inner thoughts like a knife through melted butter. His kind face now turned on her, full of seriousness and concern.

'Is there anything you want to tell me Miss Granger?'

It may have been a question, but at the tone of Dumbledore's address Hermione felt compelled to answer. She couldn't hide anything from this greatest of wizards.

'The other night…' she gulped, looking at her headmaster for encouragement. He merely continued to watch on. 'The other night, I though I heard him speak.'

'What did he say, Hermione?'

'It was probably nothing… just the wind, you know? But I could have sworn he said my name. No, thinking about it, it was late and I was tired, I was probably just hearing things. Forget about it, sir…'

Dumbledore had sat back in the seat he conjured of himself, a large comfy armchair covered in a soft pattern of summer flowers and a lovingly made patchwork quilt. It was something out of a grandparent's living room, where you would run and hide your face from the world when the love of your parents just wasn't enough. It seemed so suitable.

'This time, Hermione, I won't forget about it. You are one of my most observant students and I feel I can trust your instincts. We cannot know for sure exactly what kind of nightmare Harry's mind is producing. We can't even say if there is some alter-you walking around in there. But he is certainly aware that you're around, and that is a positive step forward.'

He stood up, his armchair disappearing in an instant, as he advanced towards the door with slow, measured steps. He turned to look at Hermione again.

'Keep up the good work, Miss Granger. Faith can be the greatest gift of all, and that is something you certainly don't lack.'

*

They weren't quite sure how they were going to do it, they just were. The date had been set, the ritual studied to a tee, their patronus' although not practised, were formed in their minds, Harry almost looking forward to the comforting company of Prongs. It was the closest thing he'd ever got to his Father. Even if he was alive in this reality, it hadn't sunk right in. He didn't want to ask Ron, even less Hermione, what memory or falsified dream they were pinning their hopes on. The expression on Ron's face when the subject was first broached, and Hermione's up in the astronomy tower had been enough. 

The arrival of the Christmas holidays had marked the start of action. Without the distraction of their dark arts lessons, they were able to step up their efforts enough to go ahead with it tonight. Christmas Eve. Harry was certainly planning to go out with a bang. They were going to use the astronomy tower, being quite isolated, they risked less chance of getting caught. The idea of a face-off with Pettigrew, even in his rat form, wasn't very appealing. The invisibility cloak would be an essential, and not for the first time, Harry wished that he were in possession of the marauder's map, lost in the midst of this reality by entities unknown. Harry wouldn't be surprised if Wormtail was using it to his own devious aims. Filch, his Hogwarts caretaker, would have killed for a bit of parchment like that. But Argus Filch wasn't here… Harry found himself thinking sadly of his favourite squib's probable demise. To be born of wizarding ancestry but absent of their magical blood was of ultimate shame in a society where muggle-borns and half bloods were second class citizens. A society he was planning on abandoning.

Hermione had been strangely quiet all day, all of them keeping apart for the majority, so not arousing suspicion of their evening activities. Ron had delved off to the safety of the Quidditch pitch with Fred and George, all left behind at the school over Christmas by a father too ashamed to show his face. Mr Weasley must have been in downright torture, attempting to comply with the ministry's anti-muggle stance. Ron didn't have to say much on the issue before Harry put the pieces together: He pictured Mr Weasley, one of his favourite people in the wizarding world, downtrodden and defeated, trawling through another day in a job he now probably despised, his face aged dramatically with the effort of merely surviving. He thought of people like Hermione, although muggle-borns were much frowned upon, dragged into the school kicking and screaming to merely act as cannon fodder for the vile Slytherins. It didn't seem fair. It just wasn't right. Harry may have been judging the situation by his own standards, set by his own reality, but somehow, he had been unable to ignore the guilt that had begun to creep up on him. That one little change that made this all possible…

If Harry's parents hadn't survived that night, none of this would have happened. He'd often in his more lonesome periods back in the cupboard at four Privet Drive wondered what would have happened if his parents came out of the imaginary car crash alive. What if that reality was all a dream, and what if he would wake up and be greeted by a caring face so familiar to his own, comforting and concerned. The idea of the greater good was as distant as the farthest star in the ever-growing gloom. For now it was clearly defined for him, in full Technicolor with state of the art graphics, how life would be. And a small voice inside of him was beginning to pick up pace, telling him he couldn't leave it like that. Even if this was a dream, he should try.

The voice was quietened throughout the day as nerves began to settle in. He knew Ron and Hermione were risking everything for him, their reputations, their sanity, and their lives. In this reality, they barely knew him. If this was the level of commitment he was able to command of his friends within the short time span, then in his own reality, he was a very lucky individual. He made a mental note to mention that when he finally broke free of the nightmare. Hermione was looking as white as a sheet as the common room began to empty, the pathetic attempt at a Christmas tree wilting sadly in the corner as a couple of second years attempted to make it sparkle, almost burning it to the ground in the process. It made Harry want to laugh out loud, a mad, heart wrenching sound that would have echoed round the circular room like the wind whistling around the tower, dark and foreboding at what lay ahead in the darkness. For the time had finally arrived.

Ron had opted for staying out, standing guard up the astronomy tower to avoid the questioning eyes of his ever-curious twin brothers. As soon as Dennis Creevy called it a night, Hermione leaped from her chair, Harry grabbing the invisibility cloak as they both raced for the door. Harry was just about to crawl through when Hermione suddenly put a hand on his shoulder.

'Harry, I…'

She paused. She obviously had something to say, her face confounded into an expression torn between uncertainty and fear, but she seemed unusually apprehensive.

'What is it, Hermione?' Harry said softy, sensing her anxiety.

'It's just that… no, it's nothing. Only nerves.' She managed a weak smile that wasn't fooling anyone. Harry sighed wearily, pushing his hair out of his face. He glanced up to her face, her eyes filling with unspoken tears as she bowed her head, ashamed of her failure to control her emotions. He seemed to know exactly what to say, taking hold of her shoulders firmly and staring straight into her panic-stricken face.

'Please, don't think I'm abandoning you,' he said in a pleading voice, as she finally raised her head and gazed right back, her eye misty from tears. 'It's just I don't belong here. I have my own reality, and they need me. I need them. I want to stay and help, but it's just…'

'Harry,' Hermione said firmly, 'You have done more for this world than you could possibly imagine.' The smile was now genuine. He returned it.

'I just hope that when you get alternative Harry back, you'll be able to talk some sense into him. You're truly a great person, Hermione. No one should be deprived of that'

She sighed heavily. 'You can count on me…'

He smiled. 'I always did.'

And with that, he slung the invisibility cloak over the pair of them as they disappeared in the direction of the tower, and their fate.

* 

Ron was lying on his bed, his book ignored as he watched his two closest friends on the other side of the room. Harry hadn't moved for days, even a basic eyelid flutter seemed beyond his physical capabilities as he sunk deeper into a comatosed sleep. Hermione wasn't much better: She had taken over the bedside duties after dinner that night, as usual, but seemed edgy, jumpy even, clutching Harry's paling hand as if to let go of it would allow him to fall into the abyss. Her hair, formally bushy but now tightly controlled in a series of ringlets, was scraped back into a tight pony tail, its ends cascading into the hood of her robes and strands falling out, unnoticed. Her eyes were saucer-like, her skin pale and grey from her twilight living, sleep being a forgotten commodity in the light of Harry's decline. Ron was surprised that she hadn't fallen apart. He secretly suspected that she already had.

Ron had always been able to conceal his worries with a sarcastic joke, a play on words, a witty remark and with his general bumbling nature. With Harry in this state, he'd done even more so. His sleeping friend became a silent audience for his outbursts, unknowingly appreciative of the genius behind it. However, while Ron always kept the faith that Harry would pull through, he wasn't so sure about Hermione. He couldn't take much more. 

'Hermione,' he said suddenly, bounding off the bed and to her side in a few, easy strides. 'Its Christmas Eve! You've been at it for too long. You need a break.' He looked at her again, his eyes pleading. She didn't respond. 'Come on, go to bed. I'll wake you if you're needed.'

'I can't sleep Ron. Even if I wanted to. Even if I were a thousand miles away and this was all a dream. I couldn't.' the voice was small and timid, like a frightened child abandoned in this brave new world, out to terrorise her at every step. 'I should be here.'

'Hermione, you're not doing yourself any favours. You need to sleep. I'll stay up tonight…'

'No Ron.'

'Please Hermione…'

'I said no!'

Her yell was sharp, unexpected, making the back of Ron's neck tingle with its unusual presence. She sensed her inappropriate reaction, lowering her voice to its reclusive state.

'I need to be here. I've been reading up on this sort of thing…' Ron rolled his eyes. Typical Hermione. Staying up all night and researching all day. No wonder she looked barely alive. 'And all the books say that constant contact, company, consistent voices, are what's needed. I'm simply providing it to my usual standard.' She smiled weakly. 'Always the workaholic.' 

Ron raised an eyebrow, and that was all it took for Hermione to falter.

'Oh, Ron…' she said, tears beginning to form in her cinnamon eyes, trickling down her cheeks. 'I just don't know what else to do. This is all down to luck, to hope, to possibilities. I can't leave Harry to chance… I just can't Ron… he's too valuable to loose… and I…'

'Shush,' he said, as she finally gave into her woe and collapsed face down on the bed, inches from Harry's resting body, her sobs causing her to shake uncontrollably. 'It's alright Herm, I understand. Believe me, I do.' 

She sat up for a minute and stared at Ron, eyes wide and panic stricken. He sighed and took her other hand, patting it calmly.

'You're not fooling anyone Herm. Especially not me. I can see it, as clear as day. If you need to be here all hours of the day, if you want to be here the way I think you do, then there's nothing I can do to stop you. I just hope that one day he'll repay the favour.'

Ron gave her hand a squeeze, let go, and was about to stride back over to his bed, calling it a night and hoping the next day's festivities would bring some much needed hope, when Hermione caught his arm again. She almost spoke in a whisper.

'Ron, Thank you for understanding. You're a great friend you know.' She looked down at her hands, almost ashamed. 'I just have this feeling that something is going to happen…'

Ron almost laughed. 'Hermione, the divinator?' he did in fact chortle. 'You're well and truly gone.' He climbed into bed and began to draw the drapes.

'It's all I've got to go on.' She said.

*

Harry's heart was pounding in his chest as he and Hermione ascended the familiar stairs to the star gazing platform. Ron was waiting for them at the door, his face relaxing at the sight of his partners in crime as they entered the tower, Ron faithfully setting up various bits of equipment strategically round the room. Hermione lit the candles, cupping the flame in her hand to prevent them blowing out in the freezing draught, her nerves shining though by her shaking hand. Eventually they sat down, looking at Harry expectantly.

'So what now?' Hermione whispered, staring across the darkened pace between her and Harry. He could make out her eyes in the gloom, clear as crystal.

'I came prepared.'

Harry produced a battered piece of parchment, muttered 'Lumos' to his wand and examined it in the glowing light, his face buried on concentration as he consulted the ancient text. He whispered a few things to himself, committing the words to memory. He glanced up.

'Well, providing Ron had set up the various preparation charms before we arrived,' Ron gave a nod, a little surprised at his own ability, 'Then we need to stand apart, pointing our wands at a central point and mutter the incantation. If all goes to plan, we should open up a vortex. By sending our patronus' into it, we'll be able to shape the dimension I end up it.'

'But what,' Ron asked, right on cue, 'are we using for our central point?'

Harry strode to the middle of the room, holding his hand over the elaborate sun mosaic that adorned the tower's centre, and slowly opened his fist, allowing a trickle of dust to decent to the floor.

'The soil of this reality, Ron,' said Hermione, as Harry stepped back into formation. 'If this is truly the corrupt reality, then its composition should be made unstable by the enchantment, so opening up the rift.'

'Sounds like an episode of Star Trek to me,' said Harry, causing the confused look on Ron's face to deepen more so, 'but trust the girl, Ron. She's never failed me before.'

'No offence Herm,' said Ron, a little embarrassed, 'But I'm still a little wary after that time you transfigured my nipple onto Professor McGonagall's forehead.'

Hermione went beetroot. 'Let's get on with it.'

She didn't look Harry in the eye as they stood around the sun emblem, staring at its faded gold glint, covered in the dust Harry bestowed unto its deteriorating face, years of neglect taking its toll on this once splendid room. Harry briefly recalled the hours he'd spend up here, gazing into the sky at the various formations, tracking the movement of stars across the sky at midnight every Wednesday, a memory which fiercely reminded him of the differences between the place he was heading and the one he left behind.

'Incubo Finite!' he said, pointing his wand at the soiled sun. A jet of bright pink lightning despatched itself from the tip, arcing towards the floor, lighting up his face in a frown of concentration. Now it was Ron's turn.

'Liberatas Veritas!'

A blue bolt, slightly misty at the edges, shot out directly into the centre of the sun, the floor awash with its colour as a swirling pit began to form. Hermione was forced to yell over the din.

'Emendatus hoc _Imitor_!'

The final arc was brighter than the rest, a brilliant shade of green that eerily slashed across Harry's eye, widening at its sight, his darkened pupils instantly dilating as it provided the final ingredient. It arched into the centre of the formation, smoke now rising from the tiled floor as the swirl reached a roaring climactic level, casting a blue light across the three figures as they held their wands tightly.

'On the count of three!' Harry yelled over the ever-increasing din. 'One…two…'

But then he stopped. He froze, his eyes wide and astounded as we stared at a place above Hermione's shoulder, breaking his concentration as Ron found his wand, battered and bruised (probably a hand-me-down from one of his brothers) shaking like a leaf in his large dominating hands.

'What are you waiting for?' he bellowed, ignoring the shadow that temporarily blocked the glow if the vortex from his already pale face. 'Let's do it!'

But Ron was ignored. Harry yanked his wand up sharply, breaking the connection so the swirling cloud crackle and died, sharp arcs sweeping back to their originators with such a force that Hermione felt the wood burning from underneath her fingers, yelping at the pain and allowing it to fall to the ground with a clatter. She felt exhausted, the magic more powerful than anything she'd encountered before. Attempting to catch her breath, Ron wanted answers.

'What the hell was that about, Harry?' he demanded forcefully. 'We were almost there!'

Harry didn't quiver underneath Ron's unusual onslaught, Merely brining a finger to his lips to convey some calm, pointing to a dark shape shuffling out of the shadows that now scuttled out of the open door. 

'You mean you stopped all that for a measly rat???' he exclaimed, astounded at Harry's stupidity. 'And who left the door open? No wonder its so draughty…'

But Hermione understood instantly, as Harry made for the door. 'Haven't you always noticed, Ron, that whenever something goes wrong, whenever we get in trouble, there's always something there, watching, spying even…'

'Are you trying to tell me there's a super intelligent rat race out there watching our every move? Pull the other one.'

'No, we're serious, aren't we Harry?' No reply. 'Harry?'

All they saw was the sweeping of a cloak before Harry began to descend the tower, literally on Pettigrew's tail. Ron couldn't even open his mouth to argue before Hermione took his by the arm on hot pursuit, as Harry took on yet another fight that wasn't his to lose.

*

Something was obviously happening. Hermione woke with a start, first cursing herself from falling asleep in the first place, then for not noticing that Harry was taking a turn for the worse. The familiar line of sweat was beginning to form across his forehead, Hermione immediately reaching for the previously abandoned cloth, ringing it out to attempt to cool him down. She felt his scar. Red-hot. Harry was shivering uncontrollably as she dabbed his face, feeling completely helpless in her bedside role as he muttered in his fever, his head rolling from side to side as his paralysis began to fade. It was as if he was trying to escape, to run somewhere, his arms rose and fell in a wild and uncoordinated fashion, Hermione wide-eyed as his muttering formed into audible words.

'Don't…no, let me go…'

'Harry?' 

'Don't follow me…need to help…'

'Ron?…' she said into the darkness. No reply. 'RON!'

'Wuwhat?'

Hermione was now sitting on the bed, holding Harry down to prevent himself an injury, her hands clamped firmly at the joints of his arms. 'Go get help! Something's happening! I think he's coming out of it!'

Ron didn't need telling twice. Hermione slung him is wand as he caught it, attempting a simple alohomora charm on the door, which surprisingly swung open.

'But I thought…'

'No matter! Just go!'

Ron dashed out the door, forgetting he was in his blue stripy pyjamas as he headed in the direction of the teacher's lounge. Hermione swung herself behind Harry, sitting up his unconscious state while maintaining her grip and rocking him slowly.

'Don't worry, Harry,' she muttered into his ear. 'Everything is going to be alright…'

*

Harry's mind had gone completely blank, engrossed in following the slightest movement as the image of the rat flicked across his taunted mind. He raced along corridor after corridor, vaguely aware that Hermione were tracing his footsteps as he moved efficiently down the hall. 

'We were nearly there!' Hermione yelled, not bothering to conceal her presence, her faced etched with worry as they began to catch up. 'What do you want to get out of this? Trying to be the hero? This isn't your fight!'

He came screaming to a halt; turning on his heel to face Hermione before Ron caught up with them, out of breath and staggering up the main staircase. His face remained strong but she could see his emerald eyes failing, filling with a mixture of rage and torment.

'I can't leave.' He said bluntly 'I can't just abandon you, and back there, I was just about to do just that. If I can do anything to help, anything that could help you out of this hideous nightmare, then I'd do it. I'd do it a million times over.'

Hermione stared at his blazing eyes, dazed, confused. Was he really saying this? She could feel her heart pounding loudly in her chest, only faintly aware of Ron's approaching footsteps as she tried to absorb what Harry just said.

'This isn't your battle Harry. This isn't your reality. You don't belong here. Don't tell me you're doing this just for your own kudos, because that isn't you.'

Harry was silent for a moment, looking more unsure and unstable than she'd ever seen.

'No, you don't understand,' he whispered urgently. 'It's just…'

'Sorry to break up the mother's meeting guys, but I don't fancy being caught out of bed by a rodent bearing a grudge.' Ron said, finally catching up. 'So what's the plan?'

Harry's tact changed instantly, abandoning his desperation for an air of efficiency.

'Minor alteration to the evening's proceedings.' 

'Yeah, Harry's decided on a whim that he fancies saving the world…'

'Herm…' he scolded softly. 'It's not like that…'

'So what's the problem?'

'Ron,' Harry said strongly. 'Any idea where we are?' He shrugged in reply. 'Well, we're right outside the headmaster's study. Behind that stone gargoyle. And I would bet any money that within the next five seconds, you'll finally find out who is truly ruling the roost.'

Ron looked a little wide-eyed as Harry seized the pair of them, covering them with the invisibility cloak just as the gargoyle began to shift out of place and a cloaked figure emerged.

Everyone immediately felt the chill that entered the hallway. Harry could virtually see his own breath, holding it in so not to blow their cover as the hidden figure steeped into the middle of the corridor, his face darkened underneath a blackened hood, the gleaming red eyes noticeable for a second before he turned their backs on the frozen threesome. Harry screwed up his eyes, expecting pain beyond belief, his forehead tingling involuntarily as the pain failed to arrive. He brought a timid finger up to his hairline, tracing the familiar route of a scar that wasn't there. He almost willed it there. He had almost forgotten.

'Come, Wormtail,' came the voice from the hidden depths. 'This had better be good.'

'Of course my Lord,' came another from behind the gargoyle. 'Young Mr Potter will certainly regret this indiscretion most genuinely.'

The three of them watched wide-eyed as the cloaked figure, now joined by his expert spy, moved swiftly down the hall, past their shrunken figures in the doorway of a neighbouring classroom and headed straight toward the astronomy tower.

'See?' hissed Hermione into Ron's ear. 'I knew it! I knew that You-Know-Who couldn't leave the running of Hogwarts to one of his minions! I knew it…'

Harry immediately doubled back and followed the headmaster and spy, Ron and Hermione not even attempting a questioning as they retraced their steps back to the tower. From the passing windows, the night appeared to have clouded over, the storm that had been threatening for days in its early stages, a light patter of rain drizzling against the glass frames as they flashed right past. Hermione gripped her wand tightly as they reached the tower steps. The wind was getting up, causing an eerie whistling noise to echo up the curving stairs ahead of them, daunting.

'So, where are they?' the cold voice of Voldemort demanded, his breath almost hissing to escape his poisoned body as Harry looked round the stairs to see the frightened figure of Wormtail cowering in the doorway.

'I don't understand it, My Lord…' he stuttered, obviously afraid of the impending onslaught. 'All their belongings are here. They were too engrossed and wrapped up in their light art hocus-pocus to withdraw so suddenly. It would have drained them surely…'

'You fool!' Voldemort barked, his words forming droplets in the air as they disappeared into the freezing night. 'You useless piece of vermin! You let them get away! And now I suggest you head back to the Gryffindor tower to see if you can find them before I get too carried away with my unforgivables…'

But Wormtail wasn't quick enough: Voldemort dispersed the cruciatus curse like a simple door locking charm, Pettigrew's squeals of pain causing Hermione to clap her hands tightly over her ears, shaking beneath the cloak and burying herself in Harry's robes while he stroked her hair reassuringly. Ron simply gulped.

Wormtail passed them unknowingly on the stairs, his face still stricken with pain as he limped down each step before transforming at the bottom, scuttling into the darkened shadows. Ron followed the rat's path and turned his eyes on Harry, who was in turn looking hungrily up the stairs. He immediately read his friend's mind.

'Oh no, you can't be serious…'

Hermione didn't dare protest as Harry belted up the stairs to the darkened astronomy tower, ever so silently closing the door behind him. She merely held in a quiet but heart wrenching sob.

_______________

__

Part Five: The Saviour

Voldemort had been too fascinated by the ever-gloomy sky to initially react to Harry's impromptu entrance. He quietly locked the door behind him, painfully ignoring the look of sheer desperation bestowed upon him by Hermione as he turned and fled towards this particular part of fate. However, his presence had not gone unnoticed.

'Ah, Mr Potter,' he spat bitterly into the air, the words like poison to his imagination. Nice of you to join me. I see you've discovered my little secret. I dare say your Father would be proud.'

Harry was unsure how to react to these words, slightly taken back by Voldemort's calm outlook. The last time they'd met, his battle banter was merely for the purpose of audience: a thriving throng of over-eager death-eaters, dying to see their master re-initiate himself into the game. But know it was the two of them, a different context, a different reality. A fact Harry found himself dangerously forgetting.

'How would you know?' he spat back, his words just as venomous.

'Oh, young Harry,' he said in a patronising fashion, taking the dignified air of Dumbledore and combining it with the hideous arrogance of Gilderoy Lockhart, 'I know more about your little set up than you can possibly imagine.'

Harry simply looked on as Voldemort approached, absent of his wand and thoroughly confident of his control of the situation. In his reality, Voldemort would have sooner swiped him down like the insignificant fly he was, buzzing in his ear yet a carrier of a lethal disease, a possibility of demise that dominated his every gesture. In this world, however, he was taking his advantage for granted. Harry seized his chance and raised his wand…

'Expelliarmus!'

It was a simple spell, yet unknowingly effective. Voldemort's wand flew across the room and fell at Harry's feet where he gently placed his heel upon it; gazing back at his archenemy with a look of defiance as it rolled underneath the sole of his shoe.

'One false move…' he said, his voice clear and determined despite the fear rising in his chest, 'One move and your wand has a little accident…'

He pushed down a little more forcefully, the quiet cracks as the wand prepared to snap amplified around the towered dome. Voldemort looked indifferent.

'Since when,' he began, covering up any element of surprise in his voice and turning to face Harry, 'did a fifteen year-old excuse for a wizard think he was able to issue threats to the supreme Dark Lord?'

Harry built up the pressure underneath his foot again. He had Voldemort in a pincer now. 'Since he realised that there's more to life than his own reality. Since he decided to make some minor alterations to this one.'

'Ah, Potter. The fondness for riddles overcomes you again. You never made any sense. I bring you here, provide you with the best education magic can provide, and you still see it suitable to forfeit your gratitude for a few moments of amusement?' Voldemort laughed cruelly. 'Methinks we underestimated you, Potter. You are far more moronic than we could ever imagine.'

And with that, he quickly summoned his wand with a flick of his wrist, the slim piece of wood jerking so suddenly that Harry stumbled. It was as if the carpet had been pulled from under his feet as he fell back against the wall, the moonlight peeking through the cloud outside temporality in a break in the storm. The wind began to howl again as Voldemort raised his wand in the pale shadow; Harry's feeling of dread returning with every step he made toward him.

'You want a definition of reality, Mr Potter? Pain. Pain beyond anything you could possibly fathom. I think a practical demonstration at this point would be most education. _Crucio._'

*

__

Why are they taking so long? Hermione thought desperately as Harry's moans intensified. Whatever was happening within his mind, within the nightmare his subconscious created to drive him to his death. Whoever did this to him was a very sick individual, hell bent on causing Harry's downfall in the most hideous way possible. He was shivering more violently now, with breath coming in uneven bouts as if he was constantly having the wind knocked out of him. He gasped: jerking violently against Hermione as she still gripped his arms, her fingers digging into his flesh desperately holding onto what was left.

'Harry,' she hissed into his ear, 'Stop it, please stop it!'

But he didn't. He continued to thrash around, the struggle to keep him upright and secure being rapidly lost as he began to lose all control.

'Harry, you're scaring me…what's happening?'

No reply, just a continued, piteous moan. Then it dawned on her. He was giving up.

'No, Harry don't you even think about dying! You're not giving up!' she was throwing away all inhibitions now, turning him round to face her by his shoulders, his head flopped against one shoulder in a daze of the poisoned induced coma. 'You've got to wake up, you've got to…'

But just as suddenly, his body became limp, like a rug being pulled from under his feet, his support giving way as he toppled away from her onto the bed with a gentle thud.

'Harry?'

His breathing slowed. Then it stopped.

*

Harry's scream echoed down the steps of the astronomy tower as Ron and Hermione reached them. They had initially turned, attempting to catch Wormtail before any more Death Eaters were alerted to the situation, their attempt ending in vain as he slipped away into the night, possibly in search of Malfoy or Snape. But the scream, combined with Hermione's diminishing sense of hope drew them back to the battleground. The sound of the scream was even more hideous, like that of a person being submerged in a lethal acid, eating away at his skin and soul as it ebbed away all possibility. Hermione's face had initially paled at the sound, repeated again and again before any attempt to tackle it began. She was stuck to the spot, rigid, scared for her own life and Ron's, but even more so for Harry. This wasn't his battle. It was theirs.

'Ron,' she whispered urgently as they shyly approached the door. 'We can't just stand here. We've got to help him. We've got to…' the pang of desperation in her voice too prominent to ignore. And Ron didn't want to argue either, but somehow he forced it.

'We're walking into a death trap you know,' he muttered as louder bangs could be heard as sparks illuminated the air underneath the door. 'That's You-Know-Who in there. You-know-You. He'd sooner swipe us down, the mudblood and the muggle-lover. To him, we're scum who need converting.'

'I think we owe Harry something Ron, and now is not the time to argue.'

She swept up the stairs, wand ready to open the door between them and their fate. And as she muttered 'Alohomora' and the door creaked open, he couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to Hermione's drastic actions than met the eye. More than she was prepared to admit. Her head was losing the battle.

*

His breath was coming in short stabs now as Voldemort made his final approach. The Dark Lord was right, horribly right. He was only fifteen, he was barely a wizard, an excuse for a wizard. He deserved to die, an insult to his name and pedigree, not deserving of the light art ranks he was so expected to join. He was giving up.

'You've certainly made good target practise, Potter,' said the taunting voice, whether internal or not, it made no odds. 'Put up a fight. You've been taught well. Not up to my own high standards however.'

Not up to standard, not up to standard…

'You deserve this Potter. You're useless. You always will be. Even if this was a world where, god forbid! The dark arts didn't thrive, you'd still be a worthless piece of vermin. You and that mudblood are the perfect match….'

Vermin, vermin, vermin… these words stabbed painfully at Harry's brain, piercing its membrane and exposing the memories it stored. Memories of a cupboard, dark and decayed, of sello-taped glasses, bullying and scars, absent of a love of which he was never worthy. Of a mock Tudor house in an anonymous suburb, as plain as day, a simple life used to hide another reality. His life was flashing across his eyelids, a blaze of green initiated by a scream, a beetle-eyed giant of a man rescuing him from a rock on the sea. Of houses and Quidditch, triumphs and falls. Broken limbs and mended pasts. His life, his world. His reality.

The fog was clearing now, breathing forgotten as the floodgates opened: he remembered. He had been so focused on the fighting, he had forgotten. It was as if something was holding him up unwilling to let him slip through their clutches, like a precious droplets of water which paved the inches before dehydration. And in his world, he would never find himself locked in a derelict tower, forsaken by all around him, beaten to a pulp by someone he defeated whilst barely a baby.

As this thought entered his head, the remembrance of that one night, when he discovered himself, his identity, his fate, filled him with a warmth he could not describe. A happiness beyond all despair. He gasped. He knew what to do. The door burst open.

'Expecto Patronum!'

The three voices yelled in unison, unaware of each other but all aiding in delivering the final blow. As the silver like figure of Prongs leaped into the air, it was joined by two other shapes, both glistening in the non-existent light, one dragon like, blowing puffs of silver smoke into the air, the other more human, more delicately formed, but with a face so hauntingly familiar Harry shivered involuntarily. They charged just as the lightning struck.

The room was filled with the most ultimate of light. It bounced in all directions, sending Harry, Ron and Hermione backwards into the doorway as it dealt with Voldemort in all its fury. Blinded to the events, their patronus' did their worse: Harry heard a blood curdling scream a ripping down of soul and flesh, a splintering of glass and iron. Then no more.

They were dazed for a moment, unsure of what they done. It took Hermione to stand up and walk to the broken window, examining the debris far, far below to allow them to believe it. Then she turned to her friends, both hunched in the corner with faces full of tiny cuts and the spluttering of blood, and kept her cold and hardened face.

'He's dead.'

Harry immediately bolted up, ignoring the weak feeling in his knees as he joined Hermione by the window so see for himself. He could barely make it out in the gradually fading mist, but there was a definite presence of a corpse below them, lying on a bed of glass and splintered wood. Then Harry had a thought. He scanned the floor, Ron's eyes now watching him warily as he found the desired item, clutching it in his fist while committing every detail to memory. The darkened central pole with whitened tips, Ollivander's work unmistakable, twirling it in his skilled yet scar-filled hands before handing it to Hermione.

'Time to change reality.'

She didn't need an explanation. She took the wand and snapped it over her knee, a silent scream of a hundred tortured souls escaping in its wake. She sighed.

'That's it?'

'That's it.' Harry turned to address them both as Ron staggered to his feet, dumbstruck. 'He's gone for now, but in my reality at least, he has a nasty habit of making a comeback. You need to contact my father as soon as possibly. Dumbledore would be better. He'll know what to do. Given the opportunity, he always did.'

A look of absolute triumph upon Ron's normally lifeless face now finally etched into being, merely nodding in understanding as he dashed out of the room presumably toward the Owlery. This left just Harry and Hermione. And words that needed to be said.

'Harry,' she exclaimed as she finally embraced him, squeezing him to her so tightly as the emotion began to flood into her tears. 'I can't possibly thank you enough… You've done so much, You-Know-Who is gone, just a pile of muddy robes at the foot of the castle… what do you think happened?'

'I honestly don't know.' He looked just as baffled to as Hermione stepped back to examine his face again. 'Some strange twist of fate, perhaps? I didn't control that lightning bolt. And it was yours and Ron's patronus' that helped drive him out, almost extinguishing every dark thought he ever had. I know a powerful patronus is powerful enough to kill a Dementor, but the lord of all dark wizards? I just don't know…'

But then he stopped. She was staring at him, a little shocked, then reaching out to run a timid finger down his forehead, forming a familiar shape with the tip.

'That scar…'

'Its back. I know. I felt it.' He sighed. 'You know what that means, don't you?'

'What?' she whispered.

'Someone must have been prepared to risk everything to save me. Love forever leaves a mark, even if the sacrifice was only intentional. That's what I think anyway.'

She smiled sadly. 'But…'

'But I need to go home.'

'I understand. But Harry?'

'Yes?'

She silently approached him and kissed him delicately on the cheek, lingering for a second, preciously as if she didn't want to taint him. Just for that moment, there was nothing else. But then she stepped back. 'Thank you.'

He softened his stare for instant, his eyes doing all the talking. They shone like the now emerging stars as the dark cloud that enveloped the castle began to lose its hold.

'Lets get on with it.'

'Without Ron?'

'I think the two of us can conjure up sufficient happy memories now, somehow. Don't you?'

She smiled broadly at him, a vague attempt to cover up the sadness that was now eclipsing her heart. They approached the sun, the pile of dust remaining at its centre but the emblem now clearer than ever, the map of the sky illuminated beneath their aching feet. Voldemort's grip on the castle was obviously lessening.

'I wouldn't be surprised if lots of the professors came out of imperious curses.' He said as an afterthought, removing his wand and giving it a quick polish with the dirty hem of his robes. 'Others may claim it, but something tells me that things were so far gone that no-one will believe them.'

'If Professor Malfoy was in a trance the whole time,' she said with an evil glint in her eye, 'and all those times he put me in detention for breathing he was under control, I'll start dating Draco.' She shuddered at the thought.

They stood for a moment, silent. Then the incantations were uttered, and with greater intensity than before the light beams projected the vortex, swirling in aspects of grey and blue upon the sun's face, a wind swirling round the circular dome with such velocity that their robes swung madly around their ankles. 

'Ready?' mouthed Harry, unnecessary as Hermione was watching his every move intensely. She nodded.

'Expecto Patronum!'

The two Patronus leaped forward, visible for just a second before they were engulfed by the vortex, the consequential reaction turning the mass of cloud from blue to red, giving the pair of them a blush of deepest crimson as Harry stepped up to depart. He hoped this was a positive sign. He didn't utter a word, any form of communication lost over the rising roar of the vortex, merely glancing at her one last time before leaping in after the patronus, unsure what to expect as he sank into its depths.

The blast send Hermione flying again, the light now darkest red as it illuminated the room again, the glass of the astronomy dome stretching to incorporate its fury. She was able to see his form evaporate, disappear from the spot he was standing before the wind changed: It began to suck everything toward it, she held on desperately to the window frame as the whistling noise intensified. There was a loud crash of realities colliding, and then it was gone. A last piece of swept up parchment falling softly to the ground. She failed to observe her tear stained face as she struggled back onto her feet.

'Good-bye, Harry.' 

*

Hermione's eyes glanced wildly from the door to the floor, then back to Harry's peaceful face as the colour began to drain from it at a worrying pace. She could hear footsteps.

'No, Harry, don't be dead.' She muttered, drawing his silent form closer to her. 'Don't do this to me. You can't abandon me, you just can't…'

The last word echoed around the dormitory, filling her instantly with a deep sense of regret. She gasped again, trying to contain the sob of realisation that was forming in her chest.

'Harry, come on Harry, don't do this to me, please…'

Then suddenly, she felt him go rigid in her arms, the last ounce of breath escaping from his chest as it fell softly with the effort. She could feel the tears begin to sting her eyes.

'No, god no…'

She spoke too soon. He gasped loudly against her shoulder, breathing deeply like he had been submerged for days, the ice like water of his coma finally releasing him as he stirred, his eyes batting open.

'Harry?' Hermione muttered softly, not daring to expect an answer.

'Hey there.' He said weakly, blinking a little as a soft smile spread across his ice like features. 'That was one hell of a tapioca pudding they fed me, wasn't it?' 

'Oh, you're all right! You're alive!' she could barely contain herself as her tear stricken face broke into a smile of her own. 'I thought I'd lost you!'

She hugged him deeply; Harry still a little weak-limbed for his ordeal. 'So did I…'

She didn't have time to ponder his reply as she broke his embrace, the door of the dormitory slamming open with the arrival of the entourage.

'Step back, young lady,' said Madam Pomfrey, failing to discolour the sense of relief in her voice with her usual professional manner while checking Harry over. Professor McGonagall was now present along with Dumbledore, Ron sulking behind them wide eyed and concerned.

'Hermione, how is he? Will he be all right? Is he…'

'Ron, he'll be fine.'

The sigh of relief escaped from Ron like a punctured tyre, his large gangly shoulders falling with the delivered solace. 'Thank god.'

'You had a close shave, Mr Potter,' said McGonagall finally, as Pomfrey continued to fuss 'I dare say you understand the basics of your affliction…'

'Some form of hallucinogenic poison?' he muttered as if was an everyday occurrence.

'Yes, an Angorius draught. It is aimed to project your worst nightmare, to fool your body into thinking its real, into shutting down with the despair of it all. A powerful, dark concoction. You were lucky to survive. Very lucky indeed.'

'Professor Snape reported the necessary ingredients were stolen from his private stores a week before you fell ill…' started Hermione

'But as he normally accuses you of that sort of thing, the idea that you'd poison yourself deliberately to get out of that potions test last Friday almost sent him to St Mungo's.' finished Ron. Harry laughed weakly, while glancing at the shaded figure of the real headmaster.

'I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Mr Weasley…' he said, the twinkle remaining. He approached Harry's bedside with a serious look of concern on his wrinkled face. 'Harry, we cannot emphasise this enough. You were extremely lucky. Many older, wiser wizards have fallen victim to this most hideous of dark poisons. Someone took a great deal of care to make this attempt on your life. We're going to have to keep a closer eye on you in the future I'm afraid.'

Harry sighed as the expected statement settled in. Not that Dumbledore's words of wisdom could ever be taken as a lecture, but Harry upon hearing the sage advice often had pondered about the many what ifs his life contained. Now as witness to one of the possibilities gone wrong, he was less than willing to delve into the artificial realities.

'Do I dare ask what world you've been drowning your sorrows in? What was that vital difference that turned it into a nightmare?' Dumbledore asked timidly, yet with a voice so demanding that Harry was compelled to willingly answer.

'My parents…' Harry gulped, unable to look anyone in the eye. 'They survived. Voldemort wasn't defeated. He was in control…'

He proceeded to tell his tale, the details now rapidly escaping him as if he'd woken from a very dramatic dream. The images were fading as he spoke, unable to expel the words quick enough before he was merely left with an essence of what occurred. But he didn't want to forget. He screwed his eyes up tight as he spoke, franticly but heavily detailed, knowing at least Dumbledore and a perceptive Hermione would pick up significant, useful details. At the story's conclusion, the ritual and his decision to go and face Voldemort, Ron was looking shocked and pale, Hermione very thoughtful while Dumbledore remained passive, his face an unsettled mixture of satisfaction and triumph as he illustrated the details of the conflict.

'Why…' he said slowly and thoughtfully, 'do you think you felt the need to face Voldemort?'

Ron shuddered involuntarily at the name. Harry glanced up at Dumbledore.

'I don't know,' he said quietly, 'I just felt my feet taking me along that corridor, following Wormtail. I think I just needed to change things before I left. I couldn't leave my friends in my nightmare. They'd done so much, it was the least I owed them.' He sensed Hermione smile to herself. 'I had this power, this knowledge that things didn't have to be like they were. I had to let them benefit.'

At last he finished, falling back exhausted against the pillows of his cosy four-poster bed.

'You certainly received a sharp dose of reality, Harry. And in the long run, your enemies will not benefit. They have awarded you the power of possibilities, the power of the knowledge that Voldemort can always be defeated, if not necessarily destroyed, no matter how far he has climbed.' Dumbledore stood back from the bed, as McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey reached the door, satisfied with his condition and lifting the quarantine charms. 'You have been given faith beyond anything previously comprehensible. Use it well.'

As they left and Ron retired to his own bed, drawing the drapes and shutting himself off from the world, Hermione moved to the window, looking out across the grounds through the frosted glass as the first snow began to fall. She smiled. Harry watched her for a moment, the Hermione he'd been seen emerge in that other world, that her alternate ego seemed to strive to create, yet underneath the confident gaze that was exploring the Hogwartian view lay a person who was just as insecure as anyone. There hadn't been much to change. The clock silently struck twelve. She yawned.

'You're shattered,' he said as she sat back down. 'You've been up for days. Go back to the girl's dorm, get some sleep. It's Christmas tomorrow.'

'It's Christmas now,' she whispered quietly. She looked a little uncertain, wanting to say something but unsure of the territory she was about to enter. 'Harry?'

'Yes?'

'Can I stay here tonight?'

He smiled. 'Of course you can.'

She returned the smile wearily as she lay down, instantly falling into a much-needed sleep on Harry's bed. She was curled up on one side with her back to him, on top of the covers, her unbrushed hair sprayed out across his pillows in wild and rampant waves. He watched her for a moment; shoulders falling gently with each breath as her body absorbed became absorbed in the solace the snooze was awarding. He smiled, knowing exactly what words and pictures the next morning would deliver when she finally woke and the actions of the previous days had their full repercussions. He wasn't going to sleep tonight. It was his turn to watch.

'Merry Christmas, Hermione,' he whispered, almost as much to himself as to the sleeping body beside him. 'Merry Christmas.'

***

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Additional A/N: God, it's been ages since I posted a fic. I was suffering from a supreme case of writer's block. (No, I lie… I got my wand confiscated! Bawls like a baby…) so I apologise right now if this is parp. I'm not even sure if I like it… promising at the start but then it fades into pure and utter slush and bafflement. Urgh. This didn't start out as an H/H thing, its just I've been reading a lot of that recently so I was influenced a little. I needed something really intense and that fitted the bill. Just to clarify, in the books I see, if anything, an H/R occurring (The lady doth protest too much!) simply as a form of comic relief from the darkening moods of the books. In any H/H fic I've read, it has been under the most tense of circumstances and far too dramatic to continue to appeal to the 9-11 age group. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy both kinds of fic, it's just I'm such an angsty writer H/H seemed like the logical step. I don't do H/D. That is where I draw the line. PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!!! I want to keep my flame free record, especially in light of my recent crappy grade sheet. B's? I can't cope with B's!!! What happened to my 40 UCAS point prediction? Ahhhhg! Anyway, I hope this isn't too unoriginal and I haven't disappointed by minions too much. Anyway, got sleep! Au revoir!

PS I do plan to learn Latin at some point in the future so please excuse my appalling use of a beautiful language. Classics kick ass!

The madness that is athena_arena is brought to you courtesy of her daddy putting a phone line into her bedroom. BIG MISTAKE! Hahahahahaha!


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